nXA  WNSYG.  C.  WHITE 


'>?%£     / 


AND  WHAT   I   SAW  THERE, 


BY  T.   S.  ARTHUR. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
J.  W.  BRADLEY,  48  N.  FOURTH  ST. 

AUBURN,  N.  T.:    H.   A.  YATES,  57   GENESEE    STREET. 
NEW  HAVEN:  M.  BRADLEY,  24  HIGH  ST. 

1854. 


ENTERED  ACCORDING  TO  ACT  OF  CONGRESS,  IN  THE  TEAR  1654,  BY 

T.  S.  ARTHUR, 

ZY  THE  CLERK'S  OFFICE  OF  THE  DISTRICT  COURT  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES  /A 
AND  FOR   THE  EASTERN  DISTRICT  OF  PENNSYLVANIA. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  L.  JOHNSON  AND  CO. 

PHILADELPHIA. 

I 


PUBLISHER'S  PREFACE. 


THIS  new  temperance  volume,  by  Mr.  Arthur,  comes 
in  just  at  the  right  time,  when  the  subject  of  restrictive 
laws  is  agitating  the  whole  country,  and  good  and  true 
men  everywhere  are  gathering  up  their  strength  for  a 
prolonged  and  unflinching  contest.  It  will  prove  a 
powerful  auxiliary  in  the  cause. 

"  Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar-Room"  gives  a  series  of  sharply 
drawn  sketches  of  scenes,  some  of  them  touching  in  the 
extreme,  and  some  dark  and  terrible.  Step  by  step  the 
author  traces  the  downward  course  of  the  tempting 
vender  and  his  infatuated  victims,  until  both  are  involved 
in  hopeless  ruin.  The  book  is  marred  by  no  exaggera 
tions,  but  exhibits  the  actualities  of  bar-room  life,  and 
the  consequences  flowing  therefrom,  with  a  severe  sim 
plicity,  and  adherence  to  truth,  that  gives  to  every 
picture  a  Daguerrean  vividness. 


M119793 


CONTENTS. 


NIGHT   THE  FIRST. 

Page 

The  "Sickle  and  Sheaf"...  7 


NIGHT  THE   SECOND. 
The  Changes  of  a  Year 37 

NIGHT  THE  THIRD. 
Joe  Morgan's  Child 60 

NIGHT  THE  FOURTH. 
Death  of  Little  Mary  Morgan 84 

NIGHT  THE  FIFTH. 
Some  of  the  Consequences  of  Tavern-Keeping 106 

NIGHT  THE  SIXTH. 

More  Consequences 134 

1*  5 


6  CONTENTS. 


NIGHT  THE   SEVENTH. 

Page 

Sowing  the  Wind ! 153 


NIGHT  THE  EIGHTH. 
Reaping  the  Whirlwind 198 

NIGHT  THE  NINTH. 
A  Fearful  Consummation 221 

NIGHT  THE  TENTH. 
The  Closing  Scene  at  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf" 23b 


TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST. 

%  "SicWt  anb  %ar 

. 
TEN  years  ago,  business  required  me  to  pass  a  day  in 

Cedarville.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  stage 
set  me  down  at  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  a  new  tavern, 
just  opened  by  a  new  landlord,  in  a  new  house,  built 
with  the  special  end  of  providing  "  accommodations  for 
man  and  beast."  As  I  stepped  from  the  dusty  old  ve 
hicle  in  which  I  had  been  jolted  along  a  rough  road  for 
some  thirty  miles,  feeling  tired  and  hungry,  the  good- 
natured  face  of  Simon  Slade,  the  landlord,  beaming  as 
it  did  with  a  hearty  welcome,  was  really  a  pleasant  sight 
to  see,  and  the  grasp  of  his  hand  was  like  that  of  a  true 
friend. 

I  felt,  as  I  entered  the  new  and  neatly  furnished 
sitting-room  adjoining  the  bar,  that  I  had  indeed  found 
a  comfortable  resting-place  after  my  wearisome  journey. 

"  All  as  nice  as  a  new  pin,"  said  I,  approvingly,  as  I 
glanced  around  the  room,  up  to  the  ceiling — white  as 

7 


l$  ''  :  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

the  driven  snow — and  over  the  handsomely  carpeted 
floor.  "  Haven't  seen  any  thing  so  inviting  as  this. 
How  long  have  you  been  open  ?" 

"  Only  a  few  months,"  answered  the  gratified  landlord. 
"  But  we  are  not  yet  in  good  going  order.  It  takes 
time,  you  know,  to  bring  every  thing  into  the  right 
shape.  Have  you  dined  yet  ?" 

"No.  Every  thing  looked  so  dirty  at  the  stage-house 
where  we  stopped  to  get  dinner,  that  I  couldn't  venture 
upon  the  experiment  of  eating.  How  long  before  your 
supper  will  be  ready?" 

"  In  an  hour,"  replied  the  landlord. 

"  That  will  do.  Let  me  have  a  nice  piece  of  tender 
steak,  and  the  loss  of  dinner  will  soon  be  forgotten." 

"You  shall  have  that,  cooked  fit  for  an  alderman," 
said  the  landlord.  "I  call  my  wife  the  best  cook  in 
Cedarville." 

As  he  spoke,  a  neatly  dressed  girl,  about  sixteen 
years  of  age,  with  rather  an  attractive  countenance, 
passed  through  the  room. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  the  landlord,  as  she  vanished 
through  the  door.  There  was  a  sparkle  of  pride  in  the 
father's  eyes,  and  a  certain  tenderness  in  the  tones  of 
his  voice,  as  he  said — "My  daughter,"  that  told  me  she 
was  very  dear  to  him. 

"You  are  a  happy  man  to  have  so  fair  a  child,"  said 
I,  speaking  more  in  compliment  than  with  a  careful 
choice  of  words. 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST. 

"I  am  a  happy  man,"  was  the  landlord's  smiling  an 
swer  ;  his  fair,  round  face,  unwrinkled  by  a  line  of  care 
or  trouble,  beaming  with  self-satisfaction.  "I  have 
always  been  a  happy  man,  and  always  expect  to  be. 
Simon  Slade  takes  the  world  as  it  comes,  and  takes  it 
easy.  My  son,  sir" — he  added,  as  a  boy  in  his  twelfth 
year,  came  in.  "  Speak  to  the  gentleman." 

The  boy  lifted  to  mine  a  pair  of  deep  blue  eyes,  from 
which  innocence  beamed,  as  he  offered  me  his  hand,  and 
said,  respectfully — "  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?"  I  could  not 
but  remark  the  girl-like  beauty  of  his  face,  in  which  the 
hardier  firmness  of  the  boy's  character  was  already 
visible. 

"What  is  your  name ?"  I  asked. 

«  Frank,  sir." 

"Frank  is  his  name,"  said  the  landlord — "we  called 
him  after  his  uncle.  Frank  and  Flora — the  names 
sound  pleasant  to  our  ears.  But,  you  know,  parents 
are  apt  to  be  a  little  partial  and  over  fond." 

"Better  that  extreme  than  its  opposite,"  I  re 
marked. 

"Just  what  I  always  say.  Frank,  my  son" — the 
landlord  spoke  to  the  boy,  "  there's  some  one  in  the  bar. 
You  can  wait  on  him  as  well  as  I  can." 

The  lad  glided  from  the  room,  in  ready  obedience. 

"A  handy  boy  that,  sir;  a  very  handy  boy.  Almost 
as  good  in  the  bar  as  a  man.  He  mixes  a  toddy  or  a 
punch  just  as  well  as  I  can." 


10  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"But,"  I  suggested,  "are  you  not  a  little  afraid  of 
placing  one  so  young  in  the  way  of  temptation." 

"Temptation!"  The  open  brows  of  Simon  Slade 
contracted  a  little.  "No,  sir  !"  he  replied,  emphatically. 
"  The  till  is  safer  under  his  care  than  it  would  be  in 
that  of  one  man  in  ten.  The  boy  comes,  sir,  of  honest 
parents.  Simon  Slade  never  wronged  anybody  out  of 
a  farthing." 

"Oh,"  said  I,  quickly,  "you  altogether  misapprehend 
me.  I  had  no  reference  to  the  till,  but  to  the  bottle." 

The  landlord's  brows  were  instantly  unbent,  and  a 
broad  smile  circled  over  his  good-humoured  face. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  Nothing  to  fear,  I  can  assure  you. 
Frank  has  no  taste  for  liquor,  and  might  pour  it  out  for 
months  without  a  drop  finding  its  way  to  his  lips.  No 
thing  to  apprehend  there,  sir — nothing." 

I  saw  that  further  suggestions  of  danger  would  be 
useless,  and  so  remained  silent.  The  arrival  of  a 
traveller  called  away  the  landlord,  and  I  was  left  alone 
for  observation  and  reflection.  The  bar  adjoined  the 
neat  sitting-room,  and  I  could  see,  through  the  open 
door,  the  customer  upon  whom  the  lad  was  attending. 
He  was  a  well-dressed  young  man — or  rather  boy,  for 
he  did  not  appear  to  be  over  nineteen  years  of  age — 
with  a  fine,  intelligent  face,  that  was  already  slightly 
marred  by  sensual  indulgence.  He  raised  the  glass 
to  his  lips,  with  a  quick,  almost  eager  motion,  and 
drained  it  at  a  single  draught. 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  11 

"  Just  right,"  said  he,  tossing  a  sixpence  to  the  young 
bar-tender.  "You  are  first-rate  at  a  brandy-toddy. 
Never  drank  a  better  in  my  life." 

The  lad's  smiling  face  told  that  he  was  gratified  by 
the  compliment.  To  me  the  sight  was  painful,  for  I 
saw  that  this  youthful  tippler  was  on  dangerous  ground. 

"  Who  is  that  young  man  in  the  bar  ?"  I  asked,  a  few 
minutes  afterward,  on  being  rejoined  by  the  landlord. 

Simon  Slade  stepped  to  the  door  and  looked  into  the 
bar  for  a  moment.  Two  or  three  men  were  there  by 
this  time;  but  he  was  at  no  loss  in  answering  my 
question. 

"  Oh,  that's  a  son  of  Judge  Hammond,  who  lives  in 
the  large  brick  house  just  as  you  enter  the  village. 
Willy  Hammond,  as  everybody  familiarly  calls  him,  is 
about  the  finest  young  man  in  our  neighbourhood. 
There  is  nothing  proud  or  put-on  about  him — nothing — 
even  if  his  father  is  a  judge,  and  rich  into  the  bargain. 
Every  one,  gentle  or  simple,  likes  Willy  Hammond. 
And  then  he  is  such  good  company.  Always  so  cheer 
ful,  and  always  with  a  pleasant  story  on  his  tongue. 
And  he's  so  high-spirited  withal,  and  so  honourable. 
Willy  Hammond  would  lose  his  right  hand  rather  than 
be  guilty  of  a  mean  action." 

" Landlord!"  The  voice  came  loud  from  the  road  in 
front  of  the  house,  and  Simon  Slade  again  left  me  to 
answer  the  demands  of  some  new  comer.  I  went  into 
the  bar-room,  in  order  to  take  a  closer  observation  of 


12  •    TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR   ROOM. 

Willy  Hammond,  in  whom  an  interest,  not  unmingled 
with  concern,  had  already  been  awakened  in  my  mind. 
I  found  him  engaged  in  a  pleasant  conversation  with  a 
plain-looking  farmer,  whose  homely,  terse,  common 
sense  was  quite  as  conspicuous  as  his  fine  play  of  words 
and  lively  fancy.  The  farmer  was  a  substantial  con 
servative,  and  young  Hammond  a  warm  admirer  of  new 
ideas  and  the  quicker  adaptation  of  means  to  ends.  I 
soon  saw  that  his  mental  powers  were  developed  beyond 
his  years,  while  his  personal  qualities  were  strongly  at 
tractive.  I  understood  better,  after  being  a  silent  list 
ener  and  observer  for  ten  minutes,  why  the  landlord 
had  spoken  of  him  so  warmly. 

"Take  a  brandy-toddy,  Mr.  H ?"  said  Ham 
mond,  after  the  discussion  closed,  good  humouredly. 
"Frank,  our  junior  bar-keeper  here,  beats  his  father, 
in  that  line." 

"I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  returned  the  farmer;  and  the 
two  passed  up  to  the  bar. 

"Now,  Frank,  my  boy,  don't  belie  my  praises,"  said 
the  young  man  ;  "  do  your  handsomest." 

"  Two  brandy-toddies,  did  you  say  ?"  Frank  made  the 
inquiry  with  quite  a  professional  air.  *?/  <. 

"Just  what  I  did  say;  and  let  them  be  equal  to 
Jove's  nectar." 

Pleased  at  this  familiarity,  the  boy  went  briskly  to 
his  work  of  mixing  the  tempting  compound,  while  Ham 
mond  looked  on  with  an  approving  smile. 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  13 

"  There,"  said  the  latter,  as  Frank  passed  the  glasses 
across  the  counter,  "if  you  don't  call  that  first-rate, 
you're  no  judge."  And  he  handed  one  of  them  to  the 
farmer,  who  tasted  the  agreeable  draught,  and  praised 
its  flavour.  As  before,  I  noticed  that  Hammond  drank 
eagerly,  like  one  athirst — emptying  his  glass  without 
once  taking  it  from  his  lips. 

Soon  after  the  bar-room  was  empty;  and  then  I 
walked  around  the  premises,  in  company  with  the  land 
lord,  and  listened  to  his  praise  of  every  thing  and  his 
plans  and  purposes  for  the  future.  The  house,  yard, 
garden,  and  out-buildings  were  in  the  most  perfect  order ; 
presenting,  in  the  whole,  a  model  of  a  village  tavern. 

"  Whatever  I  do,  sir,"  said  the  talkative  Simon  Sladc, 
"  I  like  to  do  well.  I  wasn't  just  raised  to  tavern-keep 
ing,  you  must  know  ;  but  I'm  one  who  can  turn  his  hand 
to  almost  any  thing." 

"What  was  your  business?"  I  inquired. 

"  I'm  a  miller,  sir,  by  trade,"  he  answered — "and  a 
better  miller,  though  I  say  it  myself,  is  not  to  be  found 
in  Bolton  county.  I've  followed  milling  the,se  twenty 
years,  and  made  some  little  money.  But  I  got  tired 
of  hard  work,  and  determined  to  lead  an  easier  life.  So 
I  sold  my  mill,  and  built  this  house  with  the  money.  I 
always  thought  I'd  like  tavern-keeping.  It's  an  easy 
life ;  and,  if  rightly  seen  after,  one  in  which  a  man  is 
sure  to  make  money." 

"  You  were  still  doing  a  fair  business  with  your  mill?" 


14  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

X 

"  Oh  yes.  Whatever  I  do,  I  do  right.  Last  year,  I 
put  by  a  thousand  dollars  above  all  expenses,  which  is 
not  bad,  I  can  assure  you,  for  a  mere  grist  mill.  If 
the  present  owner  comes  out  even,  he'll  do  well !" 

"How  is  that?" 

"  Oh,  he's  no  miller.  Give  him  the  best  wheat  that 
is  grown,  and  he'll  ruin  it  in  grinding.  He  takes  the 
life  out  of  every  grain.  I  don't  believe  he'll  keep  half 
the  custom  that  I  transferred  with  the  mill." 

"  A  thousand  dollars,  clear  profit,  in  so  useful  a  busi 
ness,  ought  to  have  satisfied  you,"  said  I. 

"There  you  and  I  differ,"  answered  the  landlord. 
"  Every  man  desires  to  make  as  much  money  as  possible, 
and  with  the  least  labour.  I  hope  to  make  two  or  three 
thousand  dollars  a  year,  over  and  above  all  expenses,  at 
tavern-keeping.  My  bar  alone  ought  to  yield  me  that 
sum.  A  man  with  a  wife  and  children  very  naturally 
tries  to  do  as  well  by  them  as  possible." 

"Very  true ;  but,"  I  ventured  to  suggest,  "  will  this  be 
doing  as  well  by  them  as  if  you  had  kept  on  at  the  mill?" 

"  Two  or  three  thousand  dollars  a  year  against  one 
thousand  !  Where  are  your  figures,  man  ?" 

"  There  may  be  something  beyond  the  money  to  take 
into  the  account,"  said  I. 

"What?"  inquired  Slade,  with  a  kind  of  half  cre 
dulity. 

"  Consider  the  different  influences  of  the  two  calling? 
in  life — that  of  a  miller  and  a  tavern-keeper." 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  15 

"Well!  say  on." 

"Will  your  children  be  as  safe  from  temptation  here 
as  in  their  former  home?" 

"Just  as  safe,"  was  the  unhesitating  answer.  "Why 
not?" 

I  was  about  to  speak  of  the  alluring  glass  in  the  case 
of  Frank,  but  remembering  that  I  had  already  expressed 
a  fear  in  that  direction,  felt  that  to  do  so  again  would  be 
useless,  and  so  kept  silent. 

"A  tavern-keeper,"  said  Slade,  "is  just  as  respect 
able  as  a  miller — in  fact,  the  very  people  who  used  to 
call  me  'Simon,'  or  *  Neighbour  Dustycoat,'  now  say 
' Landlord,'  or  Mr.  Slade,  and  treat  me  in  everyway 
more  as  if  I  were  an  equal  than  ever  they  did  before." 

"  The  change,"  said  I,  "may  be  due  to  the  fact  of 
your  giving  evidence  of  possessing  some  means.  Men 
are  very  apt  to  be  courteous  to  those  who  have  pro 
perty.  The  building  of  the  tavern  has,  without  doubt, 
contributed  to  the  new  estimation  in  which  you  are 
held." 

"That  isn't  all,"  replied  the  landlord.  "It  is  be 
cause  I  am  keeping  a  good  tavern,  and  thus  materi 
ally  advancing  the  interests  of  Cedarville,  that  some  of 
our  best  people  look  at  me  with  different  eyes." 

"  Advancing  the  interests  of  Cedarville  !  In  what 
way?"  I  did  not  apprehend  his  meaning. 

"  A  good  tavern  always  draws  people  to  a  place, 
while  a  miserable  old  tumbledown  of  an  affair,  badly 


16  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

kept,  such  as  we  have  had  for  years,  as  surely  repels 
them.  You  can  generally  tell  something  about  the  con 
dition  of  a  town  by  looking  at  its  taverns.  If  they  are 
well  kept,  and  doing  a  good  business,  you  will  hardly 
be  wrong  in  the  conclusion  that  the  place  is  thriving. 
Why,  already,  since  I  built  and  opened  the  i  Sickle  and 
Sheaf,'  property  has  advanced  over  twenty  per  cent, 
along  the  whole  street,  and  not  less  than  five  new  houses 
have  been  commenced." 

"Other  causes,  besides  the  simple  opening  of  a  new 
tavern,  may  have  contributed  to  this  result,"  said  I. 

"None  of  which  I  am  aware.  I  was  talking  with 
Judge  Hammond  only  yesterday — he  owns  a  great  deal 
of  ground  on  the  street — and  he  did  not  hesitate  to  say, 
that  the  building  and  opening  of  a  good  tavern  here  had 
increased  the  value  of  his  property  at  least  five  thousand 
dollars.  He  said,  moreover,  that  he  thought  the  people 
of  Cedarville  ought  to  present  me  with  a  silver  pitcher; 
and  that,  for  one,  he  would  contribute  ten  dollars  for  the 
purpose." 

The  ringing  of  the  supper  bell  here  interrupted  further 
conversation ;  and  with  the  best  of  appetites,  I  took  my 
way  to  the  room,  where  a  plentiful  meal  was  spread.  As 
I  entered,  I  met  the  wife  of  Simon  Slade,  just  passing 
out,  after  seeing  that  every  thing  was  in  order.  I  had 
not  observed  her  before ;  and  now  could  not  help  re 
marking  that  she  had  a  flushed,  excited  countenance,  as 
if  she  had  been  over  a  hot  fire,  and  was  both  worried 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  17 

and  fatigued.  And  there  was,  moreover,  a  peculiar  ex 
pression  of  the  mouth,  never  observed  in  one  whose  mind 
is  entirely  at  ease — an  expression  that  once  seen  is  never 
forgotten.  The  face  stamped  itself,  instantly,  on  my 
memory ;  and  I  can  even  now  recall  it  with  almost  the 
original  distinctness.  How  strongly  it  contrasted  with 
that  of  her  smiling,  self-satisfied  husband,  who  took  his 
place  at  the  head  of  his  table  with  an  air  of  conscious 
importance.  I  was  too  hungry  to  talk  much,  and  so  found 
greater  enjoyment  in  eating  than  in  conversation.  The 
landlord  had  a  more  chatty  guest  by  his  side,  and  I  left 
them  to  entertain  each  other,  while  I  did  ample  justice 
to  the  excellent  food  with  which  the  table  was  liberally 
provided. 

After  supper  I  went  to  the  sitting-room,  and  remain 
ed  there  until  the  lamps  were  lighted.  A  newspaper 
occupied  my  time  for  perhaps  half  an  hour ;  then  the 
buzz  of  voices  from  the  adjoining  bar-room,  which  had 
been  increasing  for  some  time,  attracted  my  attention, 
and  I  went  in  there  to  see  and  hear  what  was  passing. 
The  first  person  upon  whom  my  eyes  rested  was  young 
Hammond,  who  sat  talking  with  a  man  older  than  him 
self  by  several  years.  At  a  glance,  I  saw  that  this  man 
could  only  associate  himself  with  Willy  Hammond  as  a 
tempter.  Unscrupulous  selfishness  was  written  all  over 
his  sinister  countenance;  and  I  wondered  that  it  did  not 
strike  every  one,  as  it  did  me,  with  instant  repulsion. 
There  could  not  be,  I  felt  certain,  any  common  ground 

2* 


18  TEN   NIGHTS   IN  A   BAR-ROOM. 

of  association,  for  two  such  persons,  but  the  dead  level 
of  a  village  bar-room.  I  afterward  learned,  during  the 
evening,  that  this  man's  name  was  Harvey  Green,  and 
that  he  was  an  occasional  visitor  at  Cedarville,  remaining 
a  few  days,  or  a  few  weeks  at  a  time,  as  appeared  to  suit 
his  fancy,  and  having  no  ostensible  business  or  special 
acquaintance  with  anybody  in  the  village. 

"  There  is  one  thing  about  him,"  remarked  Simon 
Slade,  in  answering  some  question  that  I  put  in  reference 
to  the  man,  "  that  I  don't  object  to ;  he  has  plenty  of 
money,  and  is  not  at  all  niggardly  in  spending  it.  He 
used  to  come  here,  so  he  told  me,  about  once  in  five  or 
six  months;  but  his  stay  at  the  miserably  kept  tavern, 
the  only  one  then  in  Cedarville,  was  so  uncomfortable, 
that  he  had  pretty  well  made  up  his  mind  never  to  visit 
us  again.  Now,  however,  he  has  engaged  one  of  my 
best  rooms,  for  which  he  pays  me  by  the  year,  and  I  am 
to  charge  him  full  board  for  the  time  he  occupies  it.  He 
says  that  there  is  something  about  Cedarville  that  al 
ways  attracts  him  ;  and  that  his  health  is  better  while 
here  than  it  is  anywhere,  except  South  during  the  win 
ter  season.  He'll  not  leave  less  than  two  or  three  hun 
dred  dollars  a  year  in  our  village — there  is  one  item,  for 
you,  of  advantage  to  a  place  in  having  a  good  tavern." 

"What  is  his  business?"  I  asked.  "Is  he  engaged 
in  any  trading  operations  ?" 

The  landlord  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  looked  slight 
ly  mysterious,  as  he  answered — 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  19 

"  I  never  inquire  about  the  business  of  a  guest.  My 
calling  is  to  entertain  strangers.  If  they  are  pleased  with 
my  house,  and  pay  my  bills  on  presentation,  I  have  no 
right  to  seek  further.  As  a  miller,  I  never  asked  a  cus 
tomer  whether  he  raised,  bought,  or  stole  his  wheat.  It 
was  my  business  to  grind  it,  and  I  took  care  to  do  it  well. 
Beyond  that,  it  was  all  his  own  affair.  And  so  it  will 
be.  in  my  new  calling.  I  shall  mind  my  own  business 
and  keep  my  own  place." 

Besides  young  Hammond  and  this  Harvey  Green, 
there  were,  in  the  bar-room,  when  I  entered,  four  others 
besides  the  landlord.  Among  these  was  a  Judge  Lyman, 
— so  he  was  addressed — a  man  between  forty  and  fifty 
years  of  age,  who  had  a  few  weeks  before  received  the 
Democratic  nomination  for  member  of  Congress.  He 
was  very  talkative  and  very  affable,  and  soon  formed  a 
kind  of  centre  of  attraction  to  the  bar-room  circle. 
Among  other  topics  of  conversation  that  came  up  was 
the  new  tavern,  introduced  by  the  landlord,  in  whose 
mind  it  was,  very  naturally,  the  uppermost  thought. 

"  The  only  wonder  to  me  is,"  said  Judge  Lyman, 
"  that  nobody  had  wit  enough  to  see  the  advantage  of 
a  good  tavern  in  Cedarville  ten  years  ago,  or  enterprise 
enough  to  start  one.  I  give  our  friend  Slade  the  credit 
of  being  a  shrewd,  far-seeing  man ;  and,  mark  my  word 
for  it,  in  ten  years  from  to-day  he  will  be  the  richest 
man  in  the  county." 

"Nonsense — Ho!  ho!"     Simon  Slade  laughed  out- 


20  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

right.  "  The  richest  man !  You  forget  Judge  Ham 
mond." 

"No,  not  even  Judge  Hammond,  with  all  deference 
for  our  clever  friend  Willy" — and  Judge  Lyman  smiled 
pleasantly  on  the  young  man. 

"  If  he  gets  richer,  somebody  will  be  poorer  !"  The 
individual  who  uttered  these  words  had  not  spoken  be 
fore  ;  and  I  turned  to  look  at  him  more  closely.  A  glance 
showed  him  to  be  one  of  a  class  seen  in  all  bar-rooms ; 
a  poor,  broken-down  inebriate,  with  the  inward  power  of 
resistance  gone — conscious  of  having  no  man's  respect, 
and  giving  respect  to  none.  There  was  a  shrewd  twinkle 
in  his  eyes,  as  he  fixed  them  on  Slade,  that  gave  added 
force  to  the  peculiar  tone  in  which  his  brief,  but  telling 
sentence  was  uttered.  I  noticed  a  slight  contraction  on 
the  landlord's  ample  forehead,  the  first  evidence  I  had 
yet  seen  of  rufHed  feelings.  The  remark,  thrown  in  so 
untimely,  (or,  timely,  some  will  say,)  and  with  a  kind  of 
prophetic  malice,  produced  a  temporary  pause  in  the  con 
versation.  No  one  answered,  or  questioned  the  intruder, 
who,  I  could  perceive,  silently  enjoyed  the  effect  of  his 
words.  But  soon  the  obstructed  current  ran  on  again. 

"  If  our  excellent  friend,  Mr.  Slade,"  said  Harvey 
Green,  "is  not  the  richest  man  in  Cedarville  at  the  end 
of  ten  years,  he  will  at  least  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of 
having  made  his  town  richer." 

"  A  true  word  that,"  replied  Judge  Lyman — "  as  true 
a  word  as  ever  was  spoken.  What  a  dead-and-alive 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  21 

place  this  has  been  until  within  the  last  few  months. 
All  vigorous  growth  had  stopped,  and  we  were  actually 
going  to  seed." 

"And  the  graveyard  too" — muttered  the  individual 
who  had  before  disturbed  the  self-satisfied  harmony  of 
the  company,  remarking  upon  the  closing  sentence  of 
Harvey  Green.  "  Come,  landlord,"  he  added,  as  he 
strode  across  to  the  bar,  speaking  in  a  changed,  reckless 
sort  of  a  way,  "  fix  me  up  a  good  hot  whisky-punch,  and 
do  it  right ;  and  there's  another  sixpence  toward  the 
fortune  you  are  bound  to  make.  It's  the  last  one  left — 
not  a  copper  more  in  my  pockets" — and  he  turned  them 
inside-out,  with  a  half-solemn,  half-ludicrous  air.  "I 
send  it  to  keep  company  in  your  till  with  four  others 
that  have  found  their  way  into  that  snug  place  since 
morning,  and  which  will  be  lonesome  without  their  little 
friend." 

I  looked  at  Simon  Slade,  his  eyes  rested  on  mine  for 
a  moment  or  two,  and  then  sunk  beneath  my  earnest 
gaze.  I  saw  that  his  countenance  flushed,  and  that  his 
motions  were  slightly  confused.  The  incident,  it  was 
plain,  did  not  awaken  agreeable  thoughts.  Once  I  saw 
his  hand  move  toward  the  sixpence,  that  lay  upon  the 
counter;  but,  whether  to  push  it  back,  or  draw  it 
toward  the  till,  I  could  not  determine.  The  whisky- 
punch  was  in  due  time  ready,  and  with  it  the  man  re 
tired  to  a  table  across  the  room,  and  sat  down  to  enjoy 
the  tempting  beverage.  As  he  did  so,  the  landlord 


22  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

quietly  swept  the  poor  unfortunate's  last  sixpence  into 
his  drawer.  The  influence  of  this  strong  potation  was 
to  render  the  man  a  little  more  talkative.  To  the  free 
conversation  passing  around  him  he  lent  an  attentive 
ear,  dropping  in  a  word,  now  and  then,  that  always  told 
upon  the  company  like  a  well-directed  blow.  At  last, 
Slade  lost  all  patience  with  him,  and  said,  a  little  fret- 
fully- 

"Look  here,  Joe  Morgan,  if  you  will  be  ill-natured, 
pray  go  somewhere  else,  and  not  interrupt  good  feeling 
among  gentlemen." 

"  Got  my  last  sixpence,"  retorted  Joe,  turning  his 
pockets  inside-out  again.  "  No  more  use  for  me  here  to 
night.  That's  the  way  of  the  world.  How  apt  a  scholar 
is  our  good  friend  Dustycoat,  in  this  new  school !  Well, 
he  was  a  good  miller — no  one  ever  disputed  that — and 
it's  plain  to  see  that  he  is  going  to  make  a  good  land 
lord.  I  thought  his  heart  was  a  little  too  soft ;  but 
the  indurating  process  has  begun;  and,  in  less  than 
ten  years,  if  it  isn't  as  hard  as  one  of  his  old  millstones, 
Joe  Morgan  is  no  prophet.  Oh,  you  needn't  knit  your 
brows  so,  friend  Simon,  we're  old  friends ;  and  friends 
are  privileged  to  speak  plain." 

"I  wish  you'd  go  home.  You're  not  yourself,  to 
night,"  said  the  landlord,  a  little  coaxingly — for  he 
saw  that  nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  quarrelling  with 
Morgan.  "Maybe  my  heart  is  growing  harder,"  he 
added,  with  affected-good  humour ;  "  and  it  is  time, 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  23 

perhaps.  One  of  my  weaknesses,  I  have  heard  even 
you  say,  was  being  too  woman-hearted." 

"No  danger  of  that  now,"  retorted  Joe  Morgan. 
"  I've  known  a  good  many  landlords  in  my  time,  but 
can't  remember  one  that  was  troubled  with  the  disease 
that  once  afflicted  you." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  outer  door  was  pushed  open 
with  a  slow,  hesitating  motion ;  then  a  little  pale  face 
peered  in,  and  a  pair  of  soft  blue  eyes  went  searching 
about  the  room.  Conversation  was  instantly  hushed, 
and  every  face,  excited  with  interest,  turned  toward 
the  child,  who  had  now  stepped  through  the  door. 
She  was  not  over  ten  years  of  age ;  but  it  moved  the 
heart  to  look  upon  the  saddened  expression  of  her  young 
countenance,  and  the  forced  bravery  therein,  that 
scarcely  overcame  the  native  timidity  so  touchingly 
visible. 

"  Father !"  I  have  never  heard  this  word  spoken  in 
a  voice  that  sent  such  a  thrill  along  every  nerve.  It 
was  full  of  sorrowful  love — full  of  a  tender  concern  that 
had  its  origin  too  deep  for  the  heart  of  a  child.  As  she 
spoke,  the  little  one  sprang  across  the  room,  and  laying 
her  hands  upon  the  arm  of  Joe  Morgan,  lifted  her  eyes, 
that  were  ready  to  gush  over  with  tears,  to  his  face. 

"Come,  father!  won't. you  come  home?"  I  hear 
that  low,  pleading  voice  even  now,  and  my  heart  gives 
a  quicker  throb.  Poor  child !  s  Darkly  shadowed  was 
the  sky  that  bent  gloomily  over  thy  young  life. 


24  TEN   NIGHTS   IN  A   BAR-KOOM. 

Morgan  arose,  and  suffered  the  child  to  lead  him  from 
the  room.  He  seemed  passive  in  her  hands.  I  noticed 
that  he  thrust  his  fingers  nervously  into  his  pocket,  and 
that  a  troubled  look  went  over  his  face  as  they  were 
withdrawn.  His  last  sixpence  was  in  the  till  of  Simon 
Slade! 

The  first  man  who  spoke  was  Harvey  Green,  and  this 
not  for  a  minute  after  the  father  and  his  child  had 
vanished  through  the  door. 

"If  I  was  in  your  place,  landlord" — his  voice  was 
cold  and  unfeeling — "  I'd  pitch  that  fellow  out  of  the 
bar-room  the  next  time  he  stepped  through  the  door. 
He's  no  business  here,  in  the  first  place ;  and,  in  the 
second,  he  doesn't  know  how  to  behave  himself.  There's 
no  telling  how  much  a  vagabond  like  him  injures  a 
respectable  house." 

"  I  wish  he  would  stay  away,"  said  Simon,  with  a 
perplexed  air. 

"I'd  make  him  stay  away,"  answered  Green. 

"  That  may  be  easier  said  than  done,"  remarked 
Judge  Lyman.  "Our  friend  keeps  a  public-house,  and 
can't  just  say  who  shall  or  who  shall  not  come  into  it." 

"But  such  a  fellow  has  no  business  here.  He's  a 
good-for-nothing  sot.  If  I  kept  a  tavern,  I'd  refuse  to 
sell  him  liquor." 

"  That  you  might  do,"  said  Judge  Lyman — "and  I 
presume  your  hint  will  not  be  lost  on  our  friend  Slade." 

"  He  will  have  liquor,  so  long  as  he  can  get  a  cent  to 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  25 

buy  it  with,"  remarked  one  of  the  company;  "and  I 
don't  see  why  our  landlord  here,  who  has  gone  to  so 
much  expense  to  fit  up  a  tavern,  shouldn't  have  the  sale 
of  it  as  well  as  anybody  else.  Joe  talks  a  little  freely 
sometimes  ;  but  no  one  can  say  that  he  is  quarrelsome. 
You've  got  to  take  him  as  he  is,  that's  all." 

"I'm  one,"  retorted  Harvey  Green,  with  a  slightly 
ruffled  manner,  "  who  is  never  disposed  to  take  people 
as  they  are  when  they  choose  to  render  themselves  dis 
agreeable.  If  I  was  Mr.  Slade,  as  I  remarked  in  the 
beginning,  I'd  pitch  that  fellow  into  the  road  the  next 
time  he  put  his  foot  over  my  door-step." 

"  Not  if  I  were  present,"  remarked  the  other  coolly. 

Green  was  on  his  feet  in  a  moment ;  and  I  saw,  from 
the  flash  of  his  eyes,  that  he  was  a  man  of  evil  passions. 
Moving  a  pace  or  two  in  the  direction  of  the  other,  he 
said  sharply — 

"What  is  that,  sir?" 

The  individual  against  whom  his  anger  was  so  suddenly 
aroused  was  dressed  plainly,  and  had  the  appearance 
of  a  working-man.  He  was  stout  and  muscular. 

"  I  presume  you  heard  my  words.  They  were  spoken 
distinctly,"  he  replied,  not  moving  from  where  he  sat, 
nor  seeming  to  be  in  the  least  disturbed.  But  there  was 
cool  defiance  in  the  tones  of  his  voice  and  in  the  steady 
look  of  his  eyes. 

"  You're  an  impertinent  fellow,  and  I'm  half  tempted 
to  chastise  you." 


26  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

Green  had  scarcely  finished  the  sentence,  ere  he  was 
lying  at  full  length  upon  the  floor!  The  other  had 
sprung  upon  him  like  a  tiger,  and  with  one  blow  from 
his  heavy  fist,  struck  him  down  as  if  he  had  been  a 
child.  For  a  moment  or  two,  Green  lay  stunned  and 
bewildered — then,  starting  up  with  a  savage  cry,  that 
sounded  more  bestial  than  human,  he  drew  a  long  knife 
from  a  concealed  sheath,  and  attempted  to  stab  his  as 
sailant  ;  but  the  murderous  purpose  was  not  accom 
plished,  for  the  other  man,  who  had  superior  strength 
and  coolness,  saw  the  design,  and  with  a  well-directed 
blow  almost  broke  the  arm  of  Green,  causing  the  knife 
to  leave  his  hand  and  glide  far  across  the  room. 

"  I'm  half  tempted  to  wring  your  neck  off,"  exclaimed 
the  man,  whose  name  was  Lyon,  now  much  excited; 
and  seizing  Green  by  the  throat,  he  strangled  him 
until  his  face  grew  black.  "Draw  a  knife  on  me, 
ha!  You  murdering  villain!"  And  he  gripped  him 
tighter. 

Judge  Lyman  and  the  landlord  now  interfered,  and 
rescued  Green  from  the  hands  of  his  fully  aroused  an 
tagonist.  For  some  time  they  stood  growling  at  each 
other,  like  two  parted  dogs,  struggling  to  get  free,  in 
order  to  renew  the  conflict,  but  gradually  cooled  off. 
In  a  little  while  Judge  Lyman  drew  Green  aside,  and 
the  two  men  left  the  bar-room  together.  In  the  door,  as 
they  were  retiring,  the  former  slightly  nodded  to  Willy 
Hammond,  who  soon  followed  them,  going  into  the  sit- 


NIGHT    THE    FIRST.  27 

ting-room;  and  from  thence,  as  I  could  perceive,  up 
stairs,  to  an  apartment  above. 

"Not  after  much  good,"  I  heard  Lyon  mutter  to  him 
self.  "If  Judge  Hammond  don't  look  a  little  closer 
after  that  boy  of  his,  he'll  be  sorry  for  it,  that's  all." 

"  Who  is  this  Green?"  I  asked  of  Lyon,  finding  my 
self  alone  with  him  in  the  bar-room,  soon  after. 

"  A  black-leg,  I  take  it,"  was  his  unhesitating  answer. 

"  Does  Judge  Lyman  suspect  his  real  character?" 

"  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  that ;  but,  I  wouldn't 
be  afraid  to  bet  ten  dollars,  that  if  you  could  look  in 
upon  them  now,  you  would  find  cards  in  their  hands." 

"  What  a  school,  and  what  teachers  for  the  youth  who 
just  went  with  them  !"  I  could  not  help  remarking. 

"  Willy  Hammond  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  may  well  say  that.  What  can  his  father  be 
thinking  about  to  leave  him  exposed  to  such  influences!" 

"  He's  one  of  the  few  who  are  in  raptures  about  this 
tavern,  because  its  erection  has  slightly  increased  the 
value  of  his  property  about  here ;  but,  if  he  is  not  the 
loser  of  fifty  per  cent,  for  every  one  gained,  before  ten 
years  go  by,  I'm  very  much  in  error." 

"How  so?" 

"  It  will  prove,  I  fear,  the  open  door  to  ruin  for  his 
son." 

"  That's  bad,"  said  I. 

"  Bad  !     It  is  awful  to  think  of.     There  is  not  a  finer 


28  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

young  man  in  the  country ;  nor  one  with  better  min  i 
and  heart  than  Willy  Hammond.  So  much  the  sadder 
will  be  his  destruction.  Ah,  sir !  this  tavern-keeping 
is  a  curse  to  any  place." 

"  But  I  thought,  just  now,  that  you  spoke  in  favour 
of  letting  even  the  poor  drunkard's  money  go  into  our 
landlord's  till,  in  order  to  encourage  his  commendable 
enterprise  in  opening  so  good  a  tavern." 

"We  all  speak  with  covert  irony  sometimes,"  an 
swered  the  man,  "  as  I  did  then.  Poor  Joe  Morgan ! 
He  is  an  old  and  early  friend  of  Simon  Slade.  They 
were  boys  together,  and  worked  as  millers  under  the 
same  roof  for  many  years.  In  fact,  Joe's  father  owned 
the  mill,  and  the  two  learned  their  trade  with  him. 
When  old  Morgan  died,  the  mill  came  into  Joe's  hands. 
It  was  in  rather  a  worn-out  condition,  and  Joe  went  in 
debt  for  some  pretty  thorough  repairs  and  additions  of 
machinery.  By  and  by,  Simon  Slade,  who  was  hired 
by  Joe  to  run  the  mill,  received  a  couple  of  thousand 
dollars  at  the  death  of  an  aunt.  This  sum  enabled  him 
to  buy  a  share  in  the  mill,  which  Morgan  was  very  glad 
to  sell  in  order  to  get  clear  of  his  debt.  Time  passed 
on,  and  Joe  left  his  milling  interest  almost  entirely  in 
the  care  of  Slade,  who,  it  must  be  said  in  his  favour,  did 
not  neglect  the  business.  But  it  somehow  happened — 
I  will  not  say  unfairly — that,  at  the  end  of  ten  years, 
Joe  Morgan  no  longer  owned  a  share  in  the  mill.  The 
whole  property  was  in  the  hands  of  Slade.  People  did 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  29 

not  much  wonder  at  this;  for  while  Slade  was  always 
to  be  found  at  the  mill,  industrious,  active,  and  atten 
tive  to  customers,  Morgan  was  rarely  seen  on  the  pre 
mises.  You  would  oftener  find  him  in  the  woods,  with  a 
gun  over  his  shoulder,  or  sitting  by  a  trout  brook,  or 
lounging  at  the  tavern.  And  yet  everybody  liked  Joe ; 
for  he  was  companionable,  quick-witted,  and  very  kind- 
hearted.  He  would  say  sharp  things,  sometimes,  when 
people  manifested  little  meannesses ;  but  there  was  so 
much  honey  in  his  gall,  that  bitterness  rarely  predo 
minated. 

"A  year  or  two  before  his  ownership  in  the  mill 
ceased,  Morgan  married  one  of  the  sweetest  girls  in  our 
town — Fanny  Ellis,  that  was  her  name,  and  she  could 
have  had  her  pick  of  the  young  men.  Everybody  af 
fected  to  wonder  at  her  choice ;  and  yet  nobody  really 
did  wonder,  for  Joe  was  an  attractive  young  man,  take 
him  as  you  would,  and  just  the  one  to  win  the  heart  of 
a  girl  like  Fanny.  What  if  he  had  been  seen,  now  and 
then,  a  little  the  worse  for  drink !  What  if  he  showed 
more  fondness  for  pleasure  than  for  business !  Fanny 
did  not  look  into  the  future  with  doubt  or  fear.  She 
believed  that  her  love  was  strong  enough  to  win  him 
from  all  evil  allurements  ;  and,  as  for  this  world's  goods, 
they  were  matters  in  which  her  maiden  fancies  rarely 
busied  themselves. 

"  Well.     Dark  days  came  for  her,  poor  soul !     And 

yet,  in  all  the  darkness  of  her  earthly  lot,  she  has  never, 

3* 


30  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

it  is  said,  been  any  thing  but  a  loving,  forbearing,  self- 
denying  wife  to  Morgan.  And  he — fallen  as  he  is,  and 
powerless  in  the  grasp  of  the  monster  intemperance — 
has  never,  I  am  sure,  hurt  her  with  a  cruel  word.  Had 
lie  added  these,  her  heart  would,  long  ere  this,  have 
broken.  Poor  Joe  Morgan  !  Poor  Fanny  !  Oh,  what 
a  curse  is  this  drink  !" 

The  man,  warming  with  his  theme,  had  spoken  with 
an  eloquence  I  had  not  expected  from  his  lips.  Slightly 
overmastered  by  his  feelings,  he  paused  for  a  moment 
or  two,  and  then  added. 

"  It  was  unfortunate  for  Joe,  at  least,  that  Slade  sold 
his  mill,  and  became  a  tavern-keeper;  for  Joe  had  a 
sure  berth,  and  wages  regularly  paid.  He  didn'-t  al 
ways  stick  to  his  work,  but  would  go  off  on  a  spree  every 
now  and  then ;  but  Slade  bore  with  all  this,  and  worked 
harder  himself  to  make  up  for  his  hand's  shortcoming. 
And  no  matter  what  deficiency  the  little  store-room  at 
home  might  show,  Fanny  Morgan  never  found  her  meal 
barrel  empty  without  knowing  where  to  get  it  reple 
nished. 

"  But,  after  Slade  sold  the  mill,  a  sad  change  took 
place.  The  new  owner  was  little  disposed  to  pay  wages 
to  a  hand  who  would  not  give  him  all  his  time  during 
working  hours;  and  in  less  than  two  weeks  from  the 
day  he  took  possession,  Morgan  was  discharged.  Since 
then,  he  has  been  working  about  at  one  odd  job  and 
another,  earning  scarcely  enough  to  buy  the  liquor  it 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  31 

requires  to  feed  the  inordinate  thirst  that  is  consuming 
him.  I  am  not  disposed  to  blame  Simon  Slade  for  the 
wrong-doing  of  Morgan ;  but  here  is  a  simple  fact  in  the 
case — if  he  had  kept  on  at  the  useful  calling  of  a  miller, 
he  would  have  saved  this  man's  family  from  want,  suf 
fering,  and  a  lower  deep  of  misery  than  that  into 
which  they  have  already  fallen.  I  merely  state  it,  and 
you  can  draw  your  own  conclusion.  It  is  one  of  the 
many  facts,  on  the  other  side  of  this  tavern  question, 
which  it  will  do  no  harm  to  mention.  I  have  noted  a 
good  many  facts  besides,  and  one  is,  that  before  Slade 
opened  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  he  did  all  in  his  power 
to  save  his  early  friend  from  the  curse  of  intemperance ; 
now  he  has  become  his  tempter.  Heretofore,  it  was  his 
hand  that  provided  the  means  for  his  family  to  live  in 
some  small  degree  of  comfort ;  now  he  takes  the  poor 
pittance  the  wretched  man  earns,  and  dropping  it  in  his 
till,  forgets  the  wife  and  children  at  home  who  are 
hungry  for  the  bread  this  money  should  have  purchased. 

"Joe  Morgan,  fallen  as  he  is,  sir,  is  no  fool.  His 
mind  sees  quickly  yet ;  and  he  rarely  utters  a  sentiment 
that  is  not  full  of  meaning.  When  he  spoke  of  Slade's 
heart  growing  as  hard  in  ten  years  as  one  of  his  old  mill 
stones,  he  was  not  uttering  words  at  random,  nor  merely 
indulging  in  a  harsh  sentiment,  little  caring  whether  it 
were  closely  applicable  or  not.  That  the  indurating 
process  had  begun,  he,  alas!  was  too  sadly  conscious." 

The  landlord  had  been  absent  from  the  room  for 


32  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM'. 

some  time.  He  left  soon  after  Judge  Lyman,  Harvey 
Green,  and  Willy  Hammond  withdrew,  and  I  did  not 
see  him  again  during  the  evening.  His  son  Frank  was 
left  to  attend  at  the  bar ;  no  very  hard  task,  for  not 
more  than  half  a  dozen  called  in  to  drink  from  the  time 
Morgan  left  until  the  bar  was  closed. 

While  Mr.  Lyon  was  giving  me  the  brief  history  just 
recorded,  I  noticed  a  little  incident  that  caused  a 
troubled  feeling  to  pervade  my  mind.  After  a  man,  for 
whom  the  landlord's  son  had  prepared  a  fancy  drink, 
had  nearly  emptied  his  glass,  he  sat  it  down  upon  the 
counter  and  went  out.  A  tablespoonful  or  two  re 
mained  in  the  glass,  and  I  noticed  Frank,  after  smelling 
at  it  two  or  three  times,  put  the  glass  to  his  lips  and  sip 
the  sweetened  liquor.  The  flavour  proved  agreeable; 
for  after  tasting  it,  he  raised  the  glass  again  and  drained 
every  drop. 

"Frank!"  I  heard  a  low  voice,  in  a  warning  tone, 
pronounce  the  name,  and  glancing  toward  a  door  partly 
opened,  that  led  from  the  inside  of  the  bar  to  the  yard, 
I  saw  the  face  of  Mrs.  Slade.  It  had  the  same  troubled 
expression  I  had  noticed  before,  but  now  blended  with 
more  of  anxiety. 

The  boy  went  out  at  the  call  of  his  mother ;  and  when 
a  new  customer  entered,  I  noticed  that  Flora,  the 
daughter,  came  in  to  wait  upon  him.  I  noticed,  too, 
that  while  she  poured  out  the  liquor,  there  was  a  height 
ened  colour  on  her  face,  in  which  I  fancied  that  I  saw 


NIGHT   THE^  FIRST.  33 

a  tinge  of  shame.  It  is  certain  that  she  was  not  in  the 
least  gracious  to  the  person  on  whom  she  was  waiting ; 
and  that  there  was  little  heart  in  her  manner  of  per 
forming  the  task. 

Ten  o'clock  found  me  alone  and  musing  in  the  bar 
room  over  the  occurrences  of  the  evening.  Of  all  the 
incidents,  that  of  the  entrace  of  Joe  Morgan's  child 
kept  the  most  prominent  place,  in  my  thoughts.  The 
picture  of  that  mournful  little  face  was  ever  before  me ; 
and  I  seemed  all  the  while  to  hear  the  word  "Father," 
uttered  so  touchingly,  and  yet  with  such  a  world  of 
childish  tenderness.  And  the  man,  who  would  have 
opposed  the  most  stubborn  resistance  to  his  fellow  men, 
had  they  sought  to  force  him  from  the  room,  going  pas 
sively,  almost  meekly  out,  led  by  that  little  child — I 
could  not,  for  a  time,  turn  my  thoughts  from  the  image 
thereof!  And  then  thought  bore  me  to  the  wretched 
home,  back  to  which  the  gentle,  loving  child  had  taken 
her  father,  and  my  heart  grew  faint  in  me  as  imagina 
tion  busied  itself  with  all  the  misery  there. 

And  Willy  Hammond.  The  little  that  I  had  heard 
and  seen  of  him  greatly  interested  me  in  his  favour. 
Ah !  upon  what  dangerous  ground  was  he  treading. 
How  many  pitfalls  awaited  his  feet — how  near  they  were 
to  the  brink  of  a  fearful  precipice,  down  which  to  fall 
was  certain  destruction.  How  beautiful  had  been  his 
life-promise !  How  fair  the  opening  day  of  his  exist 
ence  !  Alas !  the  clouds  were  gathering  already,  and 


34  TEN   NIGHTS  JN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

the  low  rumble  of  the  distant  thunder  presaged  the 
coming  of  a  fearful  tempest.  Was  there  none  to  warn 
him  of  the  danger  ?  Alas !  all  might  now  come  too 
late,  for  so  few  who  enter  the  path  in  which  his  steps  were 
treading  will  hearken  to  friendly  counsel,  or  heed  the 
solemn  warning.  Where  was  he  now  ?  This  question 
recurred  over  and  over  again.  He  had  left  the  bar 
room  with  Judge  Lyman  and  Green  early  in  the  even 
ing,  and  had  not  made  his  appearance  since.  Who  and 
what  was  Green?  And  Judge  Lyman,  was  he  a  man 
of  principle  ?  One  with  whom  it  was  safe  to  trust  a  youth 
like  Willy  Hammond  ? 

While  I  mused  thus,  the  bar-room  door  opened,  and  a 
man  past  the  prime  of  life,  with  a  somewhat  florid  face, 
which  gave  a  strong  relief  to  the  gray,  almost  white  hair 
that,  suffered  to  grow  freely,  was  pushed  back,  and  lay 
in  heavy  masses  on  his  coat  collar,  entered  with  a  hasty 
step.  He  was  almost  venerable  in  appearance;  yet, 
there  was  in  his  dark,  quick  eyes  the  brightness  of  un- 
quenched  loves,  the  fires  of  which  were  kindled  at  the 
altars  of  selfishness  and  sensuality.  This  I  saw  at  a 
glance.  There  was  a  look  of  concern  on  his  face,  as 
he  threw  his  eyes  around  the  bar-room ;  and  he  seemed 
disappointed,  I  thought,  at  finding  it  empty. 

"Is  Simon  Slade  here?" 

As  I  answered  in  the  negative,  Mrs.  Slade  entered 
through  the  door  that  opened  from  the  yard,  and  stood 
behind  the  counter. 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  35 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Slado!  Good  evening,  madam!"  he  said. 

"  Good  evening,  Judge  Hammond." 

"  Is  your  husband  at  home  ?" 

"I  believe  he  is,"  answered  Mrs.  Slade.  "I  think 
he's  somewhere  about  the  house." 

"Ask  him  to  step  here,  will  you?" 

Mrs.  Slade  went  out.  Nearly  five  minutes  went  by, 
during  which  time  Judge  Hammond  paced  the  floor  of 
the  bar-room  uneasily.  Then  the  landlord  made  his 
appearance.  The  free,  open,  manly,  self-satisfied  ex 
pression  of  his  countenance,  which  I  had  remarked  on 
alighting  from  the  stage  in  the  afternoon,  was  gone.  I 
noticed  at  once  the  change,  for  it  was  striking.  He  did 
not  look  steadily  into  the  face  of  Judge  Hammond,  who 
asked  him  in  a  low  voice,  if  his  son  had  been  there 
during  the  evening. 

"He  was  here,"  said  Slade. 

"When?" 

"  He  came  in  some  time  after  dark  and  stayed,  maybe, 
an  hour." 

"And  hasn't  been  here  since?" 

"  It's  nearly  two  hours  since  he  left  the  bar-room," 
replied  the  landlord. 

Judge  Hammond  seemed  perplexed.  There  was  a 
degree  of  evasion  in  Slade's  manner  that  he  could 
hardly  help  noticing.  To  me  it  was  all  apparent, 
for  I  had  lively  suspicions  that  made  my  observation 
acute. 


36  TEN   NIGHTS   IN  A   BAR-ROOM. 

Judge  Hammond  crossed  his  arms  behind  him,  and 
took  three  or  four  strides  about  the  Hour. 

"Was  Judge  Lyman  here  to-night?"  he  then  asked. 

"He  was,"  answered  Slade. 

"  Did  he  and  Willy  go  out  together  ?" 

The  question  seemed  an  unexpected  one  for  the 
landlord.  -  Slade  appeared  slightly  confused,  and  did  not 
answer  promptly. 

"I — I  rather  think  they  did,"  he  said,  after  a  brief 
hesitation. 

"Ah,  well !  Perhaps  he  is  at  Judge  Lyman's.  I  will 
call  over  there." 

And  Judge  Hammond  left  the  bar-room. 

"Would  you  like  to  retire,  sir?"  said  the  landlord, 
now  turning  to  me,  with  a  forced  smile — I  saw  that  it 
was  forced. 

"  If  you  please,"  I  answered. 

He  lit  a  candle  and  conducted  me  to  my  room,  where, 
overwearied  with  the  day's  exertion,  I  soon  fell 
asleep,  and  did  not  awake  until  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly  into  my  windows. 

I  remained  at  the  village  a  portion  of  the  day,  but 
saw  nothing  of  the  parties  in  whom  the  incidents  of  the 
previous  evening  had  awakened  a  lively  interest.  At 
four  o'clock  I  left  in  the  stage,  and  did  not  visit  Cedar- 
ville  again  for  a  year. 


NIGHT   THE   SECOND. 

f%  Changes  of  a  fj>ar. 

A  cordial  grasp  of  the  hand  and  a  few  words  of 
hearty  welcome  greeted  me  as  I  alighted  from  the  stage 
at  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  on  my  next  visit  to  Cedar- 
ville.  At  the  first  glance,  I  saw  no  change  in  the  coun 
tenance,  manner,  or  general  bearing  of  Simon  Slade, 
the  landlord.  With  him,  the  year  seemed  to  have  passed 
like  a  pleasant  summer  day.  His  face  was  round,  and 
full,  and  rosy,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  that  good- 
humour  which  flows  from  intense  self-satisfaction. 
Every  thing  about  him  seemed  to  say — "  All  right  with 
myself  and  the  world." 

I  had  scarcely  expected  this.  From  what  I  saw 
during  my  last  brief  sojourn  at  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf," 
the  inference  was  natural,  that  elements  had  been  called 
into  activity,  which  must  produce  changes  adverse  to 
those  pleasant  states  of  mind  that  threw  an  almost  per 
petual  sunshine  over  the  landlord's  countenance.  How 
many  hundred  of  times  had  I  thought  of  Joe  Morgan  and 
Willy  Hammond — of  Frank,  and  the  temptations  to 
which  a  bar-room  exposed  him.  The  heart  of  Slade 

4  37 


38  TEN   XIGIITS    IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

must,  indeed,  be  as  hard  as  one  of  his  old  mill-stones,  if 
he  could  remain  an  unmoved  witness  of  the  corruption 
and  degradation  of  these. 

"  My  fears  have  outrun  the  actual  progress  of  things," 
said  I  to  myself,  with  a  sense  of  relief,  as  I  mused  alone 
in  the  still  neatly  arranged  sitting-room,  after  the  land 
lord,  who  sat  and  chatted  for  a  few  minutes,  had  left  me. 
"  There  is,  I  am  willing  to  believe,  a  basis  of  good  in 
this  man's  character,  which  has  led  him  to  remove,  as 
far  as  possible,  the  more  palpable  evils  that  ever  attach 
themselves  to  a  house  of  public  entertainment.  He  had 
but  entered  on  the  business  last  year.  There  was  much 
to  be  learned,  pondered,  and  corrected.  Experience,  I 
doubt  not,  has  led  to  many  important  changes  in  the 
manner  of  conducting  the  establishment,  and  especially 
in  what  pertains  to  the  bar." 

As  I  thought  thus,  my  eyes  glanced  through  the  half 
open  door,  and  rested  on  the  face  of  Simon  Slade.  He 
was  standing  behind  his  bar — evidently  alone  in  the 
room — with  his  head  bent  in  a  musing  attitude.  At 
first  I  was  in  some  doubt  as  to  the  identity  of  the  singu 
larly  changed  countenance.  Two  deep  perpendicular 
seams  lay  sharply  defined  on  his  forehead — the  arch  of 
his  eyebrows  was  gone,  and  from  each  corner  of  his 
compressed  lips,  lines  were  seen  reaching  halfway  to 
the  chin.  Blending  with  a  slightly  troubled  expression, 
was  a  strongly  marked  selfishness,  evidently  brooding 
over  the  consummation  of  its  purpose.  For  some  mo- 


NIGHT   TUB   SECOND.  39 

mcnts  I  sat  gazing  on  this  face,  half  doubting  at  times 
if  it  were  really  that  of  Simon  Slade.  Suddenly,  a 
gleam  flashed  over  it — an  ejaculation  was  uttered,  and 
one  clenched  hand  brought  down,  with  a  sharp  stroke, 
into  the  open  palm  of  the  other.  The  landlord's  mind 
had  reached  a  conclusion,  and  was  resolved  upon  action. 
There  were  no  warm  rays  in  the  gleam  of  light  that 
irradiated  his  countenance — at  least  none  for  my  heart, 
which  felt  under  them  an  almost  icy  coldness. 

"Just  the  man  I  was  thinking  about,"  I  heard  the 
landlord  say,  as  some  one  entered  the  bar,  while  his 
whole  manner  underwent  a  sudden  change. 

"  The  old  saying  is  true,"  was  answered  in  a  voice, 
the  tones  of  which  were  familiar  to  my  ears. 

"  Thinking  of  the  old  Harry  ?"  said  Slade. 

"  Yes." 

"  True,  literally,  in  the  present  case,"  I  heard  the 
landlord  remark,  though  in  a  much  lower  tone ;  "  for, 
if  you  are  not  the  devil  himself,  you  can't  be  farther 
removed  than  a  second  cousin." 

A  low,  gurgling  laugh  met  this  little  sally.  There 
was  something  in  it  so  unlike  a  human  laugh,  that  it 
caused  my  blood  to  trickle,  for  a  moment,  coldly  along 
my  veins. 

I  heard  nothing  more  except  the  murmur  of  voices  in 
the  bar,  for  a  hand  shut  the  partly  opened  door  that  led 
from  the  sitting-room. 

Whose  was  that  voice  ?     I  recalled  its  tones,  and  tried 


40  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

to  fix  in  my  thought  the  person  to  whom  it  belonged, 
but  was  unable  to  do  so.  I  was  not  very  long  in  doubt, 
for  on  stepping  out  upon  the  porch  in  front  of  the  tavern, 
the  well-remembered  face  of  Harvey  Green  presented 
itself.  He  stood  in  the  bar-room  door,  and  was  talking 
earnestly  to  Slade,  whose  back  was  toward  me.  I  saw 
that  he  recognised  me,  although  I  had  not  passed  a  word 
with  him  on  the  occasion  of  my  former  visit ;  and  there 
was  a  lighting  up  of  his  countenance  as  if  about  to 
speak — but  I  withdrew  my  eyes  from  his  face  to  avoid 
the  unwelcome  greeting.  When  I  looked  at  him  again, 
I  saw  that  he  was  regarding  me  with  a  sinister  glance, 
which  was  instantly  withdrawn.  In  what  broad,  black 
characters  was  the  word  TEMPTER  written  on  his  face ! 
How  was  it  possible  for  any  one  to  look  thereon,  and 
not  read  the  warning  inscription  ! 

Soon  after,  he  withdrew  into  the  bar-room,  and  the 
landlord  came  and  took  a  seat  near  me  on  the  porch. 

"How is  the  Sickle  and  Sheaf  coming  on?" I  inquired. 

"First-rate,"  was  the  answer — "First-rate." 

"  As  well  as  you  expected  ?" 

"Better." 

"  Satisfied  with  your  experiment." 

"  Perfectly.  Couldn't  get  me  back  to  the  rumbling 
old  mill  again,  if  you  were  to  make  me  a  present  of  it." 

"  What  of  the  mill  ?"  I  asked.  "  How  does  the  new 
owner  come  on  ?" 

"About  as  I  thought  it  would  be." 


NIGHT   THE   SECOND.  41 

"Not  doing  very  well?" 

"How  could  it  be  expected,  when  he  didn't  know 
enough  of  the  milling  business  to  grind  a  bushel  of 
wheat  right.  He  lost  half  of  the  custom  I  transferred 
to  him  in  less  than  three  months.  Then  he  broke  his 
main  shaft,  and  it  took  over  three  weeks  to  get  in  a  new 
one.  Half  of  his  remaining  customers  discovered  by 
this  time,  that  they  could  get  far  better  meal  from  their 
grain  at  Harwood's  mill  near  Lynwood,  and  so  did  not 
care  to  trouble  him  any  more.  The  upshot  of  the  whole 
matter  is,  he  broke  down  next,  and  had  to  sell  the  mill 
at  a  heavy  loss." 

"  Who  has  it  now  ?" 

"  Judge  Hammond  is  the  purchaser." 

"  He  is  going  to  rent  it,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  No ;  I  believe  he  means  to  turn  it  into  some  kind 
of  a  factory — and,  I  rather  think,  will  connect  therewith 
a  distillery.  This  is  a  fine  grain-growing  country,  as 
you  know.  If  he  does  set  up  a  distillery,  he'll  make  a 
fine  thing  of  it.  Grain  has  been  too  low  in  this  section 
for  some  years :  this,  all  the  farmers  have  felt,  and  they 
are  very  much  pleased  at  the  idea.  It  will  help  them 
wonderfully.  I  always  thought  my  mill  a  great  thing 
for  the  farmers ;  but  what  I  did  for  them  was  a  mere 
song  compared  to  the  advantage  of  an  extensive  dis 
tillery." 

"  Judge  Hammond  is  one  of  your  richest  men  ?" 

"  Yes — the   richest   in    the    county.     And   what  is 

4* 


42  TEN    NIGHTS    IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

more,  he's  a  shrewd,  far-seeing  man,  and  knows  how  to 
multiply  his  riches." 

"  How  is  his  son  Willy  coming  on  ?" 

"Oh!  first-rate." 

The  landlord's  eyes  fell  under  the  searching  look  1 
bent  upon  him. 

"  How  old  is  he  now  ?" 

"Just  twenty." 

"  A  critical  age,"  I  remarked. 

"  So  people  say ;  but  I  didn't  find  it  so,"  answered 
Slade,  a  little  distantly. 

"The  impulses  within  and  the  temptations  without, 
are  the  measure  of  its  dangers.  At  his  age,  you  were, 
no  doubt,  daily  employed  at  hard  work." 

"  I  was,  and  no  mistake." 

"  Thousands  and  hundred  of  thousands  are  indebted 
to  useful  work,  occupying  many  hours  through  each 
day,  and  leaving  them  with  wearied  bodies  at  night,  for 
their  safe  passage  from  yielding  youth  to  firm,  resisting 
manhood.  It  might  not  be  with  you  as  it  is  now,  had 
leisure  and  freedom  to  go  in  and  out  when  you  pleased, 
been  offered  at  the  age  of  nineteen." 

"  I  can't  tell  as  to  that,"  said  the  landlord,  shrugging 
his  shoulders.  "But  I  don't  see  that  Willy  Hammond 
is  in  any  especial  danger.  He  is  a  young  man  with 
many  admirable  qualities — is  social — liberal — generous 
almost  to  a  fault — but  has  good  common  sense,  and  wit 
enough,  I  take  it,  to  keep  out  of  harm's  way." 


NIGHT   THE   SECOND.  43 

A  man  passing  the  house  at  the  moment,  gave  Simon 
Slade  an  opportunity  to  break  off  a  conversation,  that 
was  not,  I  could  see,  altogether  agreeable.  As  he  left 
me,  I  arose  and  stepped  into  the  bar-room.  Frank,  the 
landlord's  son,  was  behind  the  bar.  He  had  grown  con 
siderably  in  the  year — and  from  a  rather  delicate,  inno 
cent-looking  boy,  to  a  stout,  bold  lad.  His  face  was 
rounder,  and  had  a  gross,  sensual  expression,  that  showed 
itself  particularly  about  the  mouth.  The  man  Green 
was  standing  beside  the  bar  talking  to  him,  and  I  noticed 
that  Frank  laughed  heartily,  at  some  low,  half  obscene 
remarks  that  he  was  making.  In  the  midst  of  these, 
Flora,  the  sister  of  Frank,  a  really  beautiful  girl,  came 
in  to  get  something  from  the  bar.  Green  spoke  to  her 
familiarly,  and  Flora  answered  him  with  a  perceptibly 
heightening  colour. 

I  glanced  toward  Frank,  half  expecting  to  see  an 
indignant  flush  on  his  young  face.  But  no — he  looked 
on  with  a  smile !  "Ah!"  thought'I,  "have  the  boy's 
pure  impulses  so  soon  died  out  in  this  fatal  atmosphere  ? 
Can  he  bear  to  see  those  evil  eyes — he  knows  they  are 
evil — rest  upon  the  face  of  his  sister  ?  or  to  hear  those 
lips,  only  a  moment  since  polluted  with  vile  words, 
address  her  with  the  familiarity  of  a  friend  ?" 

"  Fine  girl,  that  sister  of  yours,  Frank  !  Fine  girl !" 
said  Green,  after  Flora  had  withdrawn — speaking  of 
her  with  about  as  much  respect  in  his  voice  as  if  he 
were  praising  a  fleet  racer  or  favourite  hound. 


44  TEN    NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

The  boy  smiled,  with  a  pleased  air. 

"  I  must  try  and  find  her  a  good  husband,  Frank.  I 
wonder  if  she  wouldn't  have  me  ?" 

"You'd  better  ask  her,"  said  the  boy,  laughing. 

"  I  would,  if  I  thought  there  was  any  chance  for  me." 

"  Nothing  like  trying.  Faint  heart  never  won  fair 
lady,"  returned  Frank,  more  with  the  air  of  a  man  than 
a  boy.  How  fast  he  was  growing  old ! 

"A  banter,  by  George!"  exclaimed  Green,  slapping 
his  hands  together.  "  You're  a  great  boy,  Frank  !  a  great 
boy !  I  shall  have  to  talk  to  your  father  about  you. 
Coming  on  too  fast.  Have  to  be  put  back  in  your  les 
sons — hey!" 

And  Green  winked  at  the  boy,  and  shook  his  finger 
at  him.  Frank  laughed  in  a  pleased  way,  as  he 
replied — 

"  I  guess  I'll  do." 

"  I  guess  you  will,"  said  Green,  as,  satisfied  with  his 
colloquy,  he  turned  off  and  left  the  bar-room. 

"Have  something  to  drink,  sir?"  inquired  Frank, 
addressing  me  in  a  bold,  free  way. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Here's  a  newspaper,"  he  added. 

I  took  the  paper  and  sat  down — not  to  read,  but  to 
observe.  Two  or  three  men  soon  came  in,  and  spoke  in 
a  very  familiar  way  to  Frank,  who  was  presently  busy 
setting  out  the  liquors  they  had  called  for.  Their  con 
versation,  interlarded  with  much  that  was  profane  and 


NIGHT   THE   SECOND.  45 

vulgar,  was  of  horses,  horse-racing,  gunning,  and  the 
like,  to  all  of  which  the  young  har-keeper  lent  an  atten 
tive  ear,  putting  in  a  word  now  and  then,  and  showing 
an  intelligence  in  such  matters  quite  beyond  his  age. 
In  the  midst  thereof,  Mr.  Slade  made  his  appearance. 
His  presence  caused  a  marked  change  in  Frank,  who 
retired  from  his  place  among  the  men,  a  step  or  two  out 
side  of  the  bar,  and  did  not  make  a  remark  while  his 
father  remained.  It  was  plain  from  this,  that  Mr.  Slade 
was  not  only  aware  of  Frank's  dangerous  precocity,  but 
had  already  marked  his  forwardness  by  rebuke. 

So  far,  all  that  I  had  seen  and  heard  impressed  me 
unfavourably,  notwithstanding  the  declaration  of  Simon 
Slade,  that  every  thing  about  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf 
was  coming  on  "first-rate,"  and  that  he  was  "perfectly 
satisfied"  with  his  experiment.  Why,  even  if  the  man 
had  gained,  in  money,  fifty  thousand  dollars  by  tavern- 
keeping  in  a  year,  he  had  lost  a  jewel  in  the  innocence 
of  his  boy  that  was  beyond  all  valuation.  "  Perfectly 
satisfied?"  Impossible!  He  was  not  perfectly  satisfied. 
How  could  he  be  ?  The  look  thrown  upon  Frank  when 
he  entered  the  bar-room,  and  saw  him  "  hale  fellow,  well 
met,"  with  three  or  four  idle,  profane,  drinking  cus 
tomers,  contradicted  that  assertion. 

After  supper,  I  took  a  seat  in  the  bar-room,  to  see 
how  life  moved  on  in  that  place  of  rendezvous  for  the 
surface-population  of  Cedarville.  Interest  enough  in 
the  characters  I  had  met  there  a  year  before  remained, 


46  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

for  me  to  choose  this  way  of  spending  the  time,  instead 
of  visiting  at  the  house  of  a  gentleman  who  had  kindly 
invited  me  to  pass  an  evening  with  his  family. 

The  bar-room  custom,  I  soon  found,  had  largely  in 
creased  in  a  year.  It  now  required,  for  a  good  part  of 
the  time,  the  active  services  of  both  the  landlord  and 
his  son  to  meet  the  calls  for  liquor.  What  pained  me 
most,  was  to  see  the  large  number  of  lads  and  young 
men  who  came  in  to  lounge  and  drink ;  and  there  was 
scarcely  one  of  them  whose  face  did  not  show  marks  of 
sensuality,  or  whose  language  was  not  marred  by  obsce 
nity,  profanity,  or  vulgar  slang.  The  subjects  of  conversa 
tion  were  varied  enough,  though  politics  was  the  most 
prominent.  In  regard  to  politics,  I  heard  nothing  in  the 
least  instructive  ;  but  only  abuse  of  individuals  and  dog 
matism  on  public  measures.  They  were  all  exceedingly 
confident  in  assertion ;  but  I  listened  in  vain  for  exposition, 
or  even  for  demonstrative  facts.  He  who  asseverated 
in  the  most  positive  manner,  and  swore  the  hardest,  car 
ried  the  day  in  the  petty  contests. 

I  noticed,  early  in  the  evening,  and  at  a  time  when 
all  the  inmates  of  the  room  were  in  the  best  possible 
humour  with  themselves,  the  entrance  of  an  elderly  man, 
on  whose  face  I  instantly  read  a  deep  concern.  It  was 
one  of  those  mild,  yet  strongly  marked  faces,  that  strike 
you  at  a  glance.  The  forehead  was  broad,  the  eyes 
large  and  far  back  in  their  sockets,  the  lips  full  but 
firm.  You  saw  evidences  of  a  strong,  but  well  balanced 


NIGHT   THE   SECOND.  47 

character.  As  lie  came  in,  I  noticed  a  look  of  intelli 
gence  pass  from  one  to  another ;  and  then  the  eyes  of 
two  or  three  were  fixed  upon  a  young  man  who  was 
seated  not  far  from  me,  with  his  back  to  the  entrance, 
playing  at  dominoes.  He  had  a  glass  of  ale  by  his  side. 
The  old  man  searched  about  the  room  for  some  moments, 
before  his  glance  rested  upon  the  individual  I  have  men 
tioned.  My  eyes  were  full  upon  his  face,  as  he  advanced 
toward  him,  yet  unseen.  Upon  it  was  not  a  sign  of 
angry  excitement,  but  a  most  touching  sorrow. 

"Edward!"  he  said,  as  he  laid  his  hand  gently  on 
the  young  man's  shoulder.  The  latter  started  at  the 
voice,  and  crimsoned  deeply.  A  few  moments  he  sat 
irresolute. 

"  Edward,  my  son  !"  It  would  have  been  a  cold,  hard 
heart  indeed  that  softened  not  under  the  melting  ten 
derness  of  these  tones.  The  call  was  irresistible,  and 
obedience  a  necessity.  The  powers  of  evil  had,  yet,  too 
feeble  a  grasp  on  the  young  man's  heart  to  hold  him  in 
thrall.  Rising  with  a  half-reluctant  manner,  and  with 
a  shamefacedness  that  it  was  impossible  to  conceal,  he 
retired  as  quietly  as  possible.  The  notice  of  only  a 
few  in  the  bar-room  was  attracted  by  the  incident. 

"I  can  tell  you  what,"  I  heard  the  individual,  with 
whom  the  young  man  had  been  playing  at  dominos,  re 
mark — himself  not  twenty  years  of  age — "  if  my  old 
man  were  to  make  a  fool  of  himself  in  this  way — sneak 
ing  around  after  me  in  bar-rooms — he'd  get  only  his 


48  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

trouble  for  his  pains.  I'd  like  to  see  him  try  it,  though ! 
There'd  be  a  nice  time  of  it,  I  guess.  Wouldn't  I  creep 
off  with  him,  as  meek  as  a  lamb  !  Ho  !  ho  !" 

"  Who  is  that  old  gentleman  who  came  in  just  now  ?" 
I  inquired  of  the  person  who  thus  commented  on  the 
incident  which  had  just  occurred. 

"Mr.  Hargrove  is  his  name." 

"And  that  was  his  son?" 

"Yes;  and  I'm  only  sorry  he  doesn't  possess  a  littlo 
more  spirit." 

"  How  old  is  he  ?" 

"  About  twenty." 

"  Not  of  legal  age,  then  ?" 

"  He's  old  enough  to  be  his  own  master." 

"  The  law  says  differently,"  I  suggested. 

In  answer,  the  young  man  cursed  the  law,  snapping 
his  fingers  in  its  imaginary  face  as  he  did  so. 

"At  least  you  will  admit,"  said  I,  "that  Edward 
Hargrove,  in  the  use  of  a  liberty  to  go  where  he  pleases, 
and  do  what  he  pleases,  exhibits  but  small  discretion." 

"  I  will  admit  no  such  thing.  What  harm  is  there, 
I  would  like  to  know,  in  a  social  little  game  such  as  we 
were  playing  ?  There  were  no  stakes — we  were  not 
gambling." 

I  pointed  to  the  half-emptied  glass  of  ale  left  by 
young  Hargrove. 

"Oh!  oh!"  half  sneered,  half  laughed  a  man,  twice 
the  age  of  the  one  I  had  addressed,  who  sat  near  by, 


NIGHT   THE    SECOND.  49 

listening  to  our  conversation.  I  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment,  and  then  said — 

"  The  great  danger  lies  there,  without  doubt.  If  it  were 
only  a  glass  of  ale  and  a  game  of  dominos — but  it  doesn't 
stop  there,  and  well  the  young  man's  father  knows  it." 

"Perhaps  he  does,"  was  answered.  "I  remember 
him  in  his  younger  days ;  and  a  pretty  high  boy  he  was. 
He  didn't  stop  at  a  glass  of  ale  and  a  game  at  dominos ; 
not  he  !  I've  seen  him  as  drunk  as  a  lord  many  a  time ; 
and  many  a  time  at  a  horse-race,  or  cock-fight,  betting 
with  the  bravest.  I  was  only  a  boy,  though  a  pretty 
old  boy;  but  I  can  tell  you,  Hargrove  was  no  saint." 

"  I  wonder  not,  then,  that  he  is  anxious  for  his  son,'* 
was  my  remark.  "  He  knows  well  the  lurking  dangers 
in  the  path  he  seems  inclined  to  enter." 

"  I  don't  see  that  they  have  done  him  much  harm. 
He  sowed  his  wild  oats — then  got  married,  and  settled 
down  into  a  good,  substantial  citizen.  A  little  too  reli 
gious  and  pharisaical,  I  always  thought ;  but  upright  in 
his  dealings.  He  had  his  pleasures  in  early  life,  as  was 
befitting  the  season  of  youth — why  not  let  his  son  taste 
of  the  same  agreeable  fruit  ?  He's  wrong,  sir — wrong  ! 
And  I've  said  as  much  to  Ned.  I  only  wish  the  boy 
had  showed  the  right  spunk  this  evening,  and  told  the 
old  man  to  go  home  about  his  business." 

"So  do  I,"  chimed  in  the  young  disciple  in  this  bad 
school.  "  It's  what  I'd  say  to  my  old  man,  in  double- 
quick  time,  if  he  was  to  come  hunting  after  me." 

5 


50  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A    BAR-EOOM. 

"  He  knows  better  than  to  do  that,"  said  the  other,  in 
a  way  that  let  me  deeper  into  the  young  man's  character. 

"  Indeed  he  does.  He's  tried  his  hand  on  me  once  or 
twice  during  the  last  year,  but  found  it  wouldn't  do,  no 
how;  Tom  Peters  is  out  of  his  leading-strings." 

"  And  can  drink  his  glass  with  any  one,  and  not  be  a 
grain  the  worse  for  it." 

"Exactly,  old  boy!"  said  Peters,  slapping  his  pre 
ceptor  on  the  knee.  "  Exactly !  I'm  not  one  of  your 
weak-headed  ones.  Oh  no!" 

"Look  here,  Joe  Morgan!" — the  half  angry  voice  of 
Simon  Slade  now  rung  through  the  bar-room, — "just 
take  yourself  off  home !" 

I  had  not  observed  the  entrance  of  this  person.  He 
was  standing  at  the  bar,  with  an  emptied  glass  in  his 
hand.  A  year  had  made  no  improvement  in  his  appear 
ance.  On  the  contrary,  his  clothes  were  more  worn  and 
tattered ;  his  countenance  more  sadly  marred.  What  he 
had  said  to  irritate  the  landlord,  I  know  not;  but  Blade's 
face  was  fiery  writh  passion,  and  his  eyes  glared  threat 
eningly  at  the  poor  besotted  one,  who  showed  not  the 
least  inclination  to  obey. 

"  Off  with  you,  I  say !  And  never  show  your  face 
here  again.  I  won't  have  such  low  vagabonds  as  you 
are  about  my  house.  If  you  can't  keep  decent  and  stay 
decent,  don't  intrude  yourself  here." 

"A  rum-seller  talk  of  decency!"  retorted  Morgan. 
"  Pah !  You  were  a  decent  man  once,  and  a  good  miller 


NIGHT   THE    SECOND.  51 

into  the  bargain.  But  that  time's  past  and  gone.  De 
cency  died  out  when  you  exchanged  the  pick  and  facing- 
hammer  for  the  glass  and  muddler.  Decency  !  Pah ! 
How  you  talk !  As  if  it  were  any  more  decent  to  sell 
rum  than  to  drink  it." 

There  was  so  much  of  biting  contempt  in  the  tones,  as 
well  as  the  words  of  the  half  intoxicated  man,  that  Slade, 
who  had  himself  been  drinking  rather  more  freely  than 
usual,  was  angered  beyond  self-control.  Catching  up  an 
empty  glass  from  the  counter,  he  hurled  it  with  all  his 
strength  at  the  head  of  Joe  Morgan.  The  missive  just 
grazed  one  of  his  temples,  and  flew  by  on  its  dangerous 
course.  The  quick  sharp  cry  of  a  child  startled  the  air, 
followed  by  exclamations  of  alarm  and  horror -from  many 
voices. 

"It's  Joe  Morgan's  child!"  "He's  killed  her!" 
"  Good  heavens !"  Such  were  the  exclamations  that 
rang  through  the  room.  I  was  among  the  first  to  reach 
the  spot  where  a  little  girl,  just  gliding  in  through  the 
door,  had  been  struck  on  the  forehead  by  the  glass,  which 
had  cut  a  deep  gash,  and  stunned  her  into  insensibility. 
The  blood  flowed  instantly  from  the  wound,  and  covered 
her  face,  which  presented  a  shocking  appearance.  As  I 
lifted  her  from  the  floor,  upon  which  she  had  fallen, 
Morgan,  into  whose  very  soul  the  piercing  cry  of  his  child 
had  penetrated,  stood  by  my  side,  and  grappled  his  arms 
around  her  insensible  form,  uttering  as  he  did  so  heart- 
touching  moans  and  lamentations. 


52  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"What's  the  matter?  Oh,  what's  the  matter?"  It 
was  a  woman's  voice,  speaking  in  frightened  tones. 

"  It's  nothing  !  Just  go  out,  will  you,  Ann  !"  I  heard 
the  landlord  say. 

But  his  wife — it  was  Mrs.  Slade — having  heard  the 
shrieks  of  pain  and  terror  uttered  by  Morgan's  child, 
had  come  running  into  the  bar-room — heeded  not  his 
words,  but  pressed  forward  into  the  little  group  that 
stood  around  the  bleeding  girl. 

"Run  for  Doctor  Green,  Frank,"  she  cried  in  an  im 
perative  voice,  the  moment  her  eyes  rested  on  the  little 
one's  bloody  face. 

Frank  came  around  from  behind  the  bar,  in  obedience 
to  the  word ;  but  his  father  gave  a  partial  countermand, 
and  he  stood  still.  Upon  observing  which,  his  mother  re 
peated  the  order,  even  more  emphatically. 

"  Why  don't  you  jump,  you  young  rascal !"  exclaimed 
Harvey  Green.  "  The  child  may  be  dead  before  the 
doctor  can  get  here." 

Frank  hesitated  no  longer,  but  disappeared  instantly 
through  the  door. 

"  Poor,  poor  child  !"  Almost  sobbed  Mrs.  Slade,  as 
she  lifted  the  insensible  form  from  my  arms.  "  How 
did  it  happen?  Who  struck  her?" 

"Who?  Curse  him!  Who  but  Simon  Slade?"  an 
swered  Joe  Morgan,  through  his  clenched  teeth. 

The  look  of  anguish,  mingled  with  bitter  reproach, 


NIGUT   TUB   SECOND.  53 

instantly  thrown  upon  the  landlord  by  his  wife,  can 
hardly  be  forgotten  by  any  who  saw  it  that  night. 

"  Oh,  Simon  !  Simon  !  And  has  it  come  to  this  al 
ready?"  What  a  world  of  bitter  memories,  and  sad 
forebodings  of  evil,  did  that  little  sentence  express. 
"To  this  already" — Ah!  In  the  downward  way,  how 
rapidly  the  steps  do  tread — how  fast  the  progress ! 

"Bring  me  a  basin  of  water,  and  a  towel,  quickly!" 
she  now  exclaimed. 

The  water  was  brought,  and  in  a  little  while  the  face 
of  the  child  lay  pure  and  white  as  snow  against  her 
bosom.  The  wound  from  which  the  blood  had  flowed  so 
freely  was  found  on  the  upper  part  of  the  forehead,  a 
little  to  the  side,  and  extending  several  inches  back, 
along  the  top  of  the  head.  As  soon  as  the  blood  stains 
were  wiped  away,  and  the  effusion  partially  stopped, 
Mrs.  Slade  carried  the  still  insensible  body  into  the  next 
room,  whither  the  distressed,  and  now  completely  sobered 
father,  accompanied  her.  I  went  with  them,  but  Slade 
remained  behind. 

The  arrival  of  the  doctor  was  soon  followed  by  the 
restoration  of  life  to  the  inanimate  body.  He  happened 
to  be  at  home,  and  came  instantly.  He  had  just  taken 
the  last  stitch  in  the  wound,  which  required  to  be  drawn 
together,  and  was  applying  strips  of  adhesive  plaster, 
when  the  hurried  entrance  of  some  one  caused  me  to 
look  up.  What  an  apparition  met  my  eyes  !  A  woman 
stood  in  the  door,  with  a  face  in  which  maternal  anxiety 

5* 


54  TEX    NIGHTS    IX    A    BAR-ROOM. 

and  terror  blended  fearfully.  Her  countenance  was  like 
ashes — her  eyes  straining  wildly — her  lips  apart,  while 
the  panting  breath  almost  hissed  through  them. 

"  Joe  !  Joe  !  What  is  it  ?  Where  is  Mary  ?  Is  she 
dead?"  were  her  eager  inquiries. 

"No,  Fanny,"  answered  Joe  Morgan,  starting  up  from 
where  he  was  actually  kneeling  by  the  side  of  the  re 
viving  little  one,  and  going  quickly  to  his  wife.  "  She's 
better  now.  It's  a  bad  hurt,  but  the  doctor  says  it's 
nothing  dangerous.  Poor,  dear  child  !" 

The  pale  face  of  the  mother  grew  paler — she  gasped 
— caught  for  breath  two  or  three  times — a  low  shudder 
ran  through  her  frame — and  -  then  she  lay  white  and 
pulseless  in  the  arms  of  her  husband.  As  the  doctor 
applied  restoratives,  I  had  opportunity  to  note  more  par 
ticularly  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Morgan.  Her  person 
was  very  slender,  and  her  face  so  attenuated  that  it 
might  almost  be  called  shadowy.  Her  hair,  which  was 
a  rich  chestnut  brown,  with  a  slight  golden  lustre,  had 
fallen  from  her  comb,  and  now  lay  all  over  her  neck  and 
bosom  in  beautiful  luxuriance.  Back  from  her  full 
temples  it  had  been  smoothed  away  by  the  hand  of  Mor 
gan,  that  all  the  while  moved  over  her  brow  and  temples 
with  a  caressing  motion  that  I  saw  was  unconscious,  and 
which  revealed  the  tenderness  of  feeling  with  which, 
debased  as  he  was,  he  regarded  the  wife  of  his  youth, 
and  the  long  suffering  companion  of  his  later  and  evil 
days.  Her  dress  was  plain  and  coarse,  but  clean  and 


NIGIIT  THE   SECOND.  55 

well  fitting ;  and  about  her  whole  person  was  an  air  of 
neatness  and  taste.  She  could  not  now  be  called  beauti 
ful  ;  yet  in  her  marred  features — marred  by  suffering  and 
grief — were  many  lineaments  of  beauty ;  and  much  that 
told  of  a  pure,  true  woman's  heart  beating  in  her  bosom. 
Life  came  slowly  back  to  the  stilled  heart,  and  it  was 
nearly  half  an  hour  before  the  circle  of  motion  was  fully 
restored. 

Then,  the  twain,  with  their  child,  tenderly  borne  in 
the  arms  of  her  father,  went  sadly  homeward,  leaving 
more  than  one  heart  heavier  for  their  visit. 

I  saw  more  of  the  landlord's  wife  on  this  occasion  than 
before.  She  had  acted  with  a  promptness  and  humanity 
that  impressed  me  very  favourably.  It  was  plain,  from 
her  exclamations  on  learning  that  her  husband's  hand 
inflicted  the  blow  that  came  so  near  destroying  the  child's 
life,  that  her  faith  for  good  in  the  tavern-keeping 
experiment  had  never  been  strong.  I  had  already 
inferred  as  much.  Her  face,  the  few  times  I  had  seen 
her,  wore  a  troubled  look ;  and  I  could  never  forget  its 
expression,  nor  her  anxious,  warning  voice,  when  she 
discovered  Frank  sipping  the  dregs  from  a  glass  in  the 
bar-room. 

It  is  rarely,  I  believe,  that  wives  consent  freely  to 
the  opening  of  taverns  by  their  husbands ;  and  the  de 
termination  on  the  part  of  the  latter  to  do  so,  is  not  un- 
frequently  attended  with  a  breach  of  confidence  and  good 
feeling,  never  afterward  fully  healed.  Men  look  close 


56  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

to  the  money  result ;  women  to  the  moral  consequences. 
I  doubt  if  there  be  one  dram-seller  in  ten,  between 
whom  and  his  wife  there  exists  a  good  understanding — 
to  say  nothing  of  genuine  affection.  And,  in  the  ex 
ceptional  cases,  it  will  generally  be  found  that  the  wife 
is  as  mercenary,  or  careless  of  the  public  good,  as  her 
husband.  I  have  known  some  women  to  set  up  grog 
shops  ;  but  they  were  women  of  bad  principles  and  worse 
hearts.  I  remember  one  case,  where  a  woman,  with  a 
sober,  church-going  husband,  opened  a  dram-shop.  The 
husband  opposed,  remonstrated,  begged,  threatened — but 
all  to  no  purpose.  The  wife,  by  working  for  the  clothing 
stores,  had  earned  and  saved  about  three  hundred  dollars. 
The  love  of  money,  in  the  slow  process  of  accumulation, 
had  been  awakened ;  and,  in  ministering  to  the  depraved 
appetites  of  men  who  loved  drink  and  neglected  their 
families,  she  saw  a  quicker  mode  of  acquiring  the  gold 
she  coveted.  And  so  the  dram-shop  was  opened.  And 
what  was  the  result  ?  The  husband  quit  going  to  church. 
He  had  no  heart  for  that;  for,  even  on  the  Sabbath- 
day,  the  fiery  stream  was  stayed  not  in  his  house.  Next 
he  began  to  tipple.  Soon,  alas !  the  subtle  poison  so 
pervaded  his  system  that  morbid  desire  came ;  and  then 
he  moved  along  quick-footed  in  the  way  to  ruin.  In  less 
than  three  years,  I  think,  from  the  time  the  grog-shop 
was  opened  by  his  wife,  he  was  in  a  drunkard's  grave. 
A  year  or  two  more,  and  the  pit  that  was  digged  for 
others  by  the  hands  of  the  wife,  she  fell  into  herself. 


NIGHT  THE   SECOND.  57 

Ever  breathing  an  atmosphere,  poisoned  by  the  fumes  of 
liquor,  the  love  of  tasting  it  was  gradually  formed,  and 
she  too,  in  the  end,  became  a  slave  to  the  Demon  of 
Drink.  She  died,  at  last,  poor  as  a  beggar  in  the 
street.  Ah !  this  liquor-selling  is  the  way  to  ruin ;  and 
they  who  open  the  gates,  as  well  as  those  who  enter  the 
downward  path,  alike  go  to  destruction.  But  this  is  di 
gressing. 

After  Joe  Morgan  and  his  wife  left  the  "  Sickle  and 
Sheaf,"  with  that  gentle  child,  who,  as  I  afterward 
learned,  had  not,  for  a  year  or  more,  laid  her  little  head 
to  sleep  until  her  father  returned  home — and  who,  if  he 
stayed  out  beyond  a  certain  hour,  would  go  for  him,  and 
lead  him  back,  a  very  angel  of  love  and  patience — I  re- 
entered  the  bar-room,  to  see  how  life  was  passing  there. 
Not  one  of  all  I  had  left  in  the  room  remained.  The 
incident  which  had  occurred  was  of  so  painful  a  nature, 
that  no  further  unalloyed  pleasure  was  to  be  had  there 
during  the  evening,  and  so  each  had  retired.  In  his  little 
kingdom  the  landlord  sat  alone,  his  head  resting  on  his 
hand,  and  his  face  shaded  from  the  light.  The  whole 
aspect  of  the  man  was  that  of  one  in  self-humiliation. 
As  I  entered  he  raised  his  head,  and  turned  his  face 
toward  me.  Its  expression  was  painful. 

"  Rather  an  unfortunate  affair,"  said  he.  "  I'm  angry 
with  myself,  and  sorry  for  the  poor  child.  But  she'd  no 
business  here.  As  for  Joe  Morgan,  it  would  take  a  saint 
to  bear  his  tongue  when  once  set  a  going  by  liquor.  I 


58  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

wish  he'd  stay  away  from  the  house.  Nobody  wants 
his  company.  Oh  dear  ! 

The  ejaculation,  or  rather  groan,  that  closed  the  sen 
tence,  showed  how  little  Slade  was  satisfied  with  himself, 
notwithstanding  this  feehle  effort  at  self-justification. 

"  His  thirst  for  liquor  draws  him  hither,"  I  remarked. 
"  The  attraction  of  your  bar  to  his  appetite  is  like  that 
of  the  magnet  to  the  needle.  He  cannot  stay  away." 

"  He  must  stay  away  !"  exclaimed  the  landlord,  with 
some  vehemence  of  tone,  striking  his  fist  upon  the  table 
by  which  he  sat.  "  He  must  stay  away !  There  is 
scarcely  an  evening  that  he  does  not  ruffle  my  temper, 
and  mar  good  feelings  in  all  the  company.  Just  see 
what  he  provoked  me  to  do  this  evening.  I  might  have 
killed  the  child.  It  makes  my  blood  run  cold  to  think  of 
it !  Yes,  sir — he  must  stay  away.  If  no  better  can  be 
done,  I'll  hire  a  man  to  stand  at  the  door  and  keep  him 
out." 

"  He  never  troubled  you  at  the  mill,"  said  I.  "  No 
man  was  required  at  the  mill  door  ?" 

"  No  !"  And  the  landlord  gave  emphasis  to  the  word 
by  an  oath,  ejaculated  with  a  heartiness  that  almost 
startled  me.  I  had  not  heard  him  swear  before.  "No ! 
the  great  trouble  was  to  get  him  and  keep  him  there, 
the  good-for-nothing,  idle  fellow!" 

"I'm  afraid,"  I  ventured  to  suggest,  "that  things 
don't  go  on  quite  so  smoothly  here  as  they  did  at  the 
mill.  Your  customers  are  of  a  different  class." 


NIGHT   THE   SECOND.  59 

"  I  don't  know  about  that ;  why  not  ?"  He  did  not  just 
relish  my  remark. 

"  Between  quiet,  thrifty,  substantial  farmers,  and 
drinking  bar-room  loungers,  are  many  degrees  of  com 
parison." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir !"  Simon  Slade  elevated  his  person. 
"  The  men  who  visit  my  bar-room,  as  a  general 
thing,  are  quite  as  respectable,  moral,  and  substantial  as 
any  who  came  to  the  mill — and  I  believe  more  so.  The 
first  people  in  the  place,  sir,  are  to  be  found  here.  Judge 
Lyman  and  Judge  Hammond ;  Lawyer  Wilks  and 
Doctor  Maynard ;  Mr.  Grand  and  Mr.  Lee  ;  and  dozens 
of  others — all  our  first  people.  No,  sir;  you  mustn't 
judge  all  by  vagabonds  like  Joe  Morgan." 

There  was  a  testy  spirit  manifested  that  I  did  not  care 
to  provoke.  I  could  have  met  his  assertion  with  facts  and 
inferences  of  a  character  to  startle  any  one  occupying 
his  position,  who  was  in  a  calm,  reflective  state ;  but  to 
argue  with  him  then  would  have  been  worse  than  idle  : 
and  so  I  let  him  talk. on  until  the  excitement  occasioned 
by  my  words  died  out  for  want  of  new  fuel. 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD. 

|oe  ^organ's 


"  I  DON'T  see  any  thing  of  your  very  particular  friend, 
Joe  Morgan,  this  evening,"  said  Harvey  Green,  leaning 
on  the  bar  and  speaking  to  Slade.  It  was  the  night 
succeeding  that  on  which  the  painful  and  exciting  scene 
with  the  child  had  occurred. 

"No,"  was  answered  —  and  to  the  word  was  added  a 
profane  imprecation.  "No;  and  if  he'll  just  keep  away 
from  here,  he  may  go  to  -  on  a  hard  trotting  horse  and 
a  porcupine  saddle  as  fast  as  he  pleases.  He's  tried  my 
patience  beyond  endurance,  and  my  mind  is  made  up, 
that  he  gets  no  more  drams  at  this  bar.  I've  borne  his 
vile  tongue  and  seen  my  company  annoyed  by  him  just 
as  long  as  I  mean  to  stand  it.  Last  night  decided  mo. 
Suppose  I'd  killed  that  child?" 

"  You'd  have  had  trouble  then,  and  no  mistake." 

"Wouldn't  I  ?  Blast  her  little  picture  !  What  busi 
ness  has  she  creeping  in  here  every  night  ?" 

"  She  must  have  a  nice  kind  of  a  mother,"  remarked 
Green,  with  a  cold  sneer. 

"  I  don't  know  what  she  is  now,"  said  Slade,  a  slight 

touch  of  feeling  in  his  voice  —  "heart-broken,  I  suppose. 
60 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  61 

I  couldn't  look  at  her  last  night ;  it  made  me  sick.  But, 
there  was  a  time  when  Fanny  Morgan  was  the  loveliest 
and  best  woman  in  Cedarville.  I'll  say  that  for  her. 
Oh  dear  !  What  a  life  her  miserable  husband  has  caused 
her  to  lead." 

"  Better  that  he  were  dead  and  out  of  the  way." 

"Better  a  thousand  times,"  answered  Slade.  "If 
he'd  only  fall  down  some  night  and  break  his  neck,  it 
would  be  a  blessing  to  his  family." 

"And  to  you  in  particular,"  laughed  Green. 

"  You  may  be  sure  it  wouldn't  cost  me  a  large  sum 
for  mourning,"  was  the  unfeeling  response. 

Let  us  leave  the  bar-room  of  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf," 
and  its  cold-hearted  inmates,  and  look  in  upon  the 
family  of  Joe  Morgan,  and  see  how  it  is  in  the  home  of 
the  poor  inebriate.  We  will  pass  by  a  quick  transition. 

"  Joe  !"  The  thin  white  hand  of  Mrs.  Morgan  clasps 
the  arm  of  her  husband,  who  has  arisen  up  suddenly, 
and  now  stands  by  the  partly  opened  door.  "  Don't  go 
out  to-night,  Joe.  Please,  don't  go  out." 

"Father!"  A  feeble  voice  calls  from  the  corner  of 
an  old  settee,  where  little  Mary  lies  with  her  head 
bandaged. 

"Well,  I  won't  then!"  is  replied — not  angrily,  nor 
even  fretfully — but  in  a  kind  voice. 

"  Come  and  sit  by  me,  father."  How  tenderly,  yet 
how  full  of  concern  is  that  low,  sweet  voice.  "  Come, 
won't  you?" 


62  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  Now  hold  my  hand,  father." 

Joe  takes  the  hand  of  little  Mary,  that  instantly 
tightens  upon  his. 

"  You  won't  go  away  and  leave  me  to-night,  will  you, 
father  ?  Say  you  won't." 

"  How  very  hot  your  hand  is,  dear.  Does  your  head 
ache?" 

"  A  little ;  but  it  will  soon  feel  better." 

Up  into  the  swollen  and  disfigured  face  of  the  fallen 
father,  the  large,  earnest  blue  eyes  of  the  child  are 
raised.  She  does  not  see  the  marred  lineaments ;  but, 
only  the  beloved  countenance  of  her  parent. 

"Dear  father!" 

"  What,  love  ?" 

"I  wish  you'd  promise  me  something." 

"What,  dear?" 

"Will  you  promise?" 

"  I  can't  say  until  I  hear  your  request.  If  I  can 
promise,  I  will." 

"  Oh  !  you  can  promise — you  can,  father  !" 

How  the  large  blue  eyes  dance  and  sparkle. 

"What  is  it,  love?" 

"  That  you'll  never  go  into  Simon  Slade's  bar  any 
more." 

The  child  raises  herself,  evidently  with  a  painful 
effort ;  and  leans  nearer  to  her  father. 

Joe  shakes  his  head,  and  poor  Mary  drops  back  upon 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  63 

her  pillow  with  a  sigh.  Her  lids  fall,  and  the  long 
lashes  lie  strongly  relieved  on  her  colourless  cheeks. 

"I  won't  go  there  to-night,  dear.  So  let  your  heart 
be  at  rest." 

Mary's  lids  unclose,  and  two  round  drops,  released 
from  their  clasp,  glide  slowly  over  her  face. 

"  Thank  you,  father — thank  you.  Mother  will  be  so 
glad." 

The  eyes  closed  again ;  and  the  father  moved  un 
easily.  His  heart  is  touched.  There  is  a  struggle  within 
him.  It  is  on  his  lips  to  say  that  he  will  never  drink 
at  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf"  again;  but  resolution  just 
lacks  the  force  of  utterance. 

"Father!" 

"Well,  dear!" 

"  I  don't  think  I'll  be  well  enough  to  go  out  in  two  or 
three  days.  You  know  the  doctor  said  that  I  would 
have  to  keep  very  still,  for  I  had  a  great  deal  of 
fever." 

"  Yes,  poor  child." 

"  Now,  won't  you  pronaiee  me  one  thing?" 

"What  is  it,  dear?" 

"  Not  to  go  out  in  the  evening  until  I  get  well." 

Joe  Morgan  hesitated. 

"  Just  promise  me  that,  father.  It  won't  be  long. 
I  shall  be  up  again  in  a  little  while." 

How  well  the  father  knows  what  is  in  the  heart  of  his 
child.  Her  fears  arc  all  for  him.  Who  is  to  go  after 


64  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

her  poor  father,  and  lead  him  home  when  the  darkness 
of  inebriety  is  on  his  spirit,  and  external  perception  so 
dulled  that  not  skill  enough  remains  to  shun  the  harm 
that  lies  in  his  path. 

"Do  promise  just  that,  father,  dear." 

He  cannot  resist  the  pleading  voice  and  look. 

"  I  promise  it,  Mary  ;  so  shut  your  eyes  now  and  go 
to  sleep.  I'm  afraid  this  fever  will  increase." 

"  Oh !  I'm  so  glad— so  glad  !" 

Mary  does  not  clasp  her  hands,  nor  show  strong  ex 
ternal  signs  of  pleasure ;  but  how  full  of  a  pure,  un 
selfish  joy  is  that  low  murmured  ejaculation,  spoken  in 
the  depths  of  her  spirit,  as  well  as  syllabled  by  her 
tongue ! 

Mrs.  Morgan  has  been  no  unconcerned  witness  of  all 
this ;  but  knowing  the  child's  influence  over  her  father, 
she  has  not  ventured  a  word.  More  was  to  be  gained, 
she  was  sure,  by  silence  on  her  part ;  and  so  she  has 
kept  silent.  Now  she  comes  nearer  to  them,  and  says, 
as  she  lets  a  hand  rest  on  the  shoulder  of  her  hus 
band — 

"  You  feel  better  for  that  promise,  already ;  I  know 
you  do." 

He  looks  up  to  her,  and  smiles  faintly.  He  does 
feel  better,  but  is  hardly  willing  to  acknowledge  it. 

Soon  after  Mary  is  sleeping.  It  does  not  escape  the 
observation  of  Mrs.  Morgan  that  her  husband  grows 
restless ;  for  he  gets  up  suddenly,  every  now  and  then, 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  65 

and  walks  quickly  across  the  room,  as  if  in  search  of 
something.  Then  sits  down,  listlessly — sighs — stretches 
himself,  and  says — "  Oh  dear  !"  What  shall  she  do  for 
him  ?  How  is  the  want  of  his  accustomed  evening 
stimulus  to  be  met  ?  She  thinks,  and  questions,  and 
grieves  inwardly.  Poor  Joe  Morgan !  His  wife  under 
stands  his  case,  and  pities  him  from  her  heart.  But, 
what  can  she  do  ?  Go  out  and  get  him  something  to 
drink  ?  "  Oh,  no  !  no  !  no  !  Never  !"  She  answered  the 
thought  audibly  almost,  in  the  excitement  of  her  feel 
ings.  An  hour  has  passed — Joe's  restlessness  has  in 
creased  instead  of  diminishing.  What  is  to  be  done  ? 
Now  Mrs.  Morgan  has  left  the  room.  She  has  resolved 
upon  something,  for  the  case  must  be  met.  Ah !  here 
she  comes,  after  an  absence  of  five  minutes,  bearing  in 
her  hand  a  cup  of  strong  coffee. 

"  It  was  kind  and  thoughtful  in  you,  Fanny,"  says 
Morgan,  as  with  a  gratified  look  he  takes  the  cup.  But 
his  hand  trembles,  and  he  spills  a  portion  of  the  con 
tents  as  he  tries  to  raise  it  to  his  lips.  How  dreadfully 
his  nerves  are  shattered!  Unnatural  stimulants  have 
been  applied  so  long,  that  all  true  vitality  seems  lost. 

And  now  the  hand  of  his  wife  is  holding  the  cup  to 
his  lips,  and  he  drinks  eagerly. 

"This  is  dreadful— dreadful !  Where  will  it  end? 
What  is  to  be  done  ?" 

Fanny  suppresses  a  sob,  as  she  thus  gives  vent  to  her 
troubled  feelings.  Twice,  already,  has  her  husband 

6* 


Ot>  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

been  seized  with  the  drunkard's  madness ;  and,  in  tho 
nervous  prostration  consequent  upon  even  a  brief  with 
drawal  of  his  usual  strong  stimulants,  she  sees  the  fear 
ful  precursor  of  another  attack  of  this  dreadful  and 
dangerous  malady.  In  the  hope  of  supplying  the  needed 
tone  she  has  given  him  strong  coffee ;  and  this,  for  the 
time,  produces  the  effect  desired.  The  restlessness  is 
allayed,  and  a  quiet  state  of  body  and  mind  succeeds. 
It  needs  but  a  suggestion  to  induce  him  to  retire  for  the 
night.  After  being  a  few  minutes  in  bed,  sleep  steals 
over  him,  and  his  heavy  breathing  tells  that  he  is  in  the 
world  of  dreams. 

And  now  there  comes  a  tap  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  is  answered. 

The  latch  is  lifted,  the  door  swings  open,  and  a  wo 
man  enters. 

"Mrs.  Slade !"  The  name  is  uttered  in  a  tone  of 
surprise. 

"Fanny,  how  are  you  this  evening?"  Kindly, 
yet  half  sadly,  the  words  are  said. 

"  Tolerable,  I  thank  you." 

The  hands  of  the  two  women  are  clasped,  and  for  a 
few  moments  they  gaze  into  each  other's  face.  What 
a  world  of  tender  commiseration  is  in  that  of  Mrs. 
Slade  ! 

"  How  is  little  Mary  to-night  ?" 

"  Not  so  well,  I'm  afraid.  She  has  a  good  deal  of 
fever." 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  67 

"  Indeed !  Oh,  I'm  sorry  !  Poor  child  !  what  a  dread 
ful  thing  it  was.  Oh,  Fanny !  you  don't  know  how  it 
has  troubled  me.  I've  been  intending  to  come  around 
all  day  to  see  how  she  was,  but  couldn't  get  off  until 
now." 

"  It  came  near  killing  her,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan. 

"  It's  in  God's  mercy  she  escaped.  The  thought  of 
it  curdles  the  very  blood  in  my  veins.  Poor  child !  is 
this  her  on  the  settee  ?" 

"Yes." 

Mrs.  Slade  takes  a  chair,  and  sitting  by  the  sleeping 
child,  gazes  long  upon  her  pale,  sweet  face.  Now  the 
lips  of  Mary  part — words  are  murmured — what  is  she 
saying  ? 

"  No,  no,  mother ;  I  can't  go  to  bed  yet.  Father  isn't 
home.  And  it's  so  dark.  There's  no  one  to  lead  him 
over  the  bridge.  I'm  not  afraid.  Don't — don't  cry 
so,  mother — I'm  not  afraid  !  Nothing  will  hurt  me." 

The  child's  face  flushes.  She  moans,  and  throws  her 
arms  about  uneasily.  Hark  again. 

"  I  wish  Mr.  Slade  wouldn't  look  so  cross  at  me.  He 
never  did  when  I  went  to  the  mill.  He  doesn't  take  me 
on  his  knee  now,  and  stroke  my  hair.  Oh  dear !  I  wish 
father  wouldn't  go  there  any  more.  Don't !  don't,  Mr. 
Slade.  Oh !  oh  !" — the  ejaculation  prolonged  into  a 
frightened  cry,  "  My  head  !  my  head !" 

A  few  choking  sobs  are  followed  by  low  moans ;  and 
then  the  child  breathes  easily  again.  But  the  flush  does 


68  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

not  leave  her  cheek ;  and  when  Mrs.  Slade,  from  whose 
eyes  the  tears  come  forth  drop  by  drop,  and  roll  down 
her  face,  touches  it  lightly,  she  finds  it  hot  with  fever. 

"Has  the  doctor  seen  her  to-day,  Fanny?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"He  should  see  her  at  once.  I  will  go  for  him;" 
and  Mrs.  Slade  starts  up  and  goes  quickly  from  the 
room.  In  a  little  while  she  returns  with  Doctor  Green, 
who  sits  down  and  looks  at  the  child  for  some  moments 
with  a  sober,  thoughtful  face.  Then  he  lays  his  fingers 
on  her  pulse  and  times  its  beat  by  his  watch — shakes 
his  head,  and  looks  graver  still. 

"  How  long  has  she  had  fever  ?"  he  asks. 

"  All  day." 

"You  should  have  sent  for  me  earlier." 

"  Oh  doctor!  She  is  not  dangerous,  I  hope?"  Mrs. 
Morgan  looks  frightened. 

"  She's  a  sick  child,  madam." 

"  You've  promised,  father." — The  dreamer  is  speaking 
again. — "  I'm  not  well  enough  yet.  Oh,  don't  go,  father ; 
don't !  There  !  He's  gone  !  Well,  well !  I'll  try  and 
walk  there — I  can  sit  down  and  rest  by  the  way.  Oh  dear ! 
How  tired  I  am  !  Father !  Father  !" 

The  child  starts  up  and  looks  about  her  wildly. 

"  Oh,  mother,  is  it  you?"  And  she  sinks  back  upon 
her  pillow,  looking  now  inquiringly  from  face  to  face. 

"Father — where  is  father?"  she  asks. 

"Asleep,  dear." 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  60 

"Oh!  Is  he?  I'm  glad." 

Her  eyes  close  wearily. 

"  Do  you  feel  any  pain,  Mary  ?"  inquired  the  doctor. 

"  Yes,  sir — in  my  head.     It  aches  and  beats  so." 

The  cry  of  "  Father"  has  reached  the  ears  of  Morgan, 
who  is  sleeping  in  the  next  room,  and  roused  him  into 
consciousness.  He  knows  the  doctor's  voice.  Why  is  he 
here  at  this  late  hour  ?  "Do  you  feel  any  pain,  Mary  ?" 
The  question  he  hears  distinctly,  and  the  faintly  uttered 
reply  also.  He  is  sober  enough  to  have  all  his  fears  in 
stantly  excited.  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  that  he 
loves  as  he  loves  that  child.  And  so  he  gets  up  and 
dresses  himself  as  quickly  as  possible ;  the  stimulus  of 
anxiety  giving  tension  to  his  relaxed  nerves. 

"  Oh  father !"  The  quick  ears  of  Mary  detect  his 
entrance  first,  and  a  pleasant  smile  welcomes  him. 

"  Is  she  very  sick,  doctor?"  he  asks,  in  a  voice  full  of 
anxiety. 

"  She's  a  sick  child,  sir;  you  should  have  sent  for  me 
earlier."  The  doctor  speaks  rather  sternly,  and  with  a 
purpose  to  rebuke. 

The  reply  stirs  Morgan,  and  he  seems  to  cower  half- 
timidly  under  the  words,  as  if  they  were  blows.  Mary 
has  already  grasped  her  father's  hand,  and  holds  on  to 
it  tightly. 

After  examining  the  case  a  little  more  closely,  the 
doctor  prepares  some  medicine,  and,  promising  to  call 
early  in  the  morning,  goes  away.  Mrs.  Slade  follows 


70  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

soon  after ;  but,  in  parting  with  Mrs.  Morgan,  leaves 
something  in  her  hand,  which,  to  the  surprise  of  the  latter, 
proves  to  be  a  ten-dollar  bill.  The  tears  start  to  her 
eyes ;  and  she  conceals  the  money  in  her  bosom — mur 
muring  a  fervent  "  God  bless  her  !" 

A  simple  act  of  restitution  is  this  on  the  part  of 
Mrs.  Slade,  prompted  as  well  by  humanity  as  a  sense  of 
justice.  With  one  hand  her  husband  has  taken  the 
bread  from  the  family  of  his  old  friend,  and  thus  with 
the  other  she  restores  it. 

And  now  Morgan  and  his  wife  are  alone  with  their 
sick  child.  Higher  the  fever  rises,  and  partial  delirium 
seizes  upon  her  over-excited  brain.  She  talks  for  a  time 
almost  incessantly.  All  her  trouble  is  about  her  father ; 
and  she  is  constantly  referring  to  his  promise  not  to  go 
out  in  the  evening  until  she  gets  well.  How  tenderly 
and  touchingly  she  appeals  to  him ;  now  looking  up  into 
his  face  in  partial  recognition ;  and  now  calling  anxious 
ly  after  him,  as  if  he  had  left  her  and  was  going  away. 

"You'll  not  forget  your  promise,  will  you,  father?" 
she  says,  speaking  so  calmly,  that  he  thinks  her  mind 
has  ceased  to  wander. 

"No,  dear;  I  will  not  forget  it,"  he  answers,  smooth 
ing  her  hair  gently  with  his  hand. 

"  You'll  not  go  out  in  the  evening  again,  until  I  get 
well?" 

"No,  dear." 

"Father!" 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  71 

"What,  love?" 

"  Stoop  down  closer ;  I  don't  want  mother  to  hear ; 
it  will  make  her  feel  so  bad." 

The  father  bends  his  ear  close  to  the  lips  of  Mary. 
How  he  starts  and  shudders  !  What  has  she  said  ? — only 
these  brief  words — 

"I  shall  not  get  well,  father;  I'm  going  to  die." 
'    The  groans,  impossible  to  repress,  that  issued  through 
the  lips  of  Joe  Morgan,  startled  the  ears  of  his  wife, 
and  she  came  quickly  to  the  bed-side. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  is  the  matter,  Joe  ?"  she  inquired 
with  a  look  of  anxiety. 

"  Hush,  father.  Don't  tell  her.  I  only  said  it 
to  you."  And  Mary  put  a  finger  on  her  lips,  and 
looked  mysterious.  "There,  mother — you  go  away; 
you've  got  trouble  enough,  any  how.  Don't  tell  her, 
father." 

But  the  words,  which  came  to  him  like  a  prophecy, 
awoke  such  pangs  of  fear  and  remorse  in  the  heart  of 
Joe  Morgan,  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  repress 
the  signs  of  pain.  For  some  moments  he  gazed  at  his 
wife — then  stooping  forward,  suddenly,  he  buried  his 
face  in  the  bed-clothes,  and  sobbed  bitterly. 

A  suggestion  of  the  truth  now  flashed  through  the 
mind  of  Mrs.  Morgan,  sending  a  thrill  of  pain  along 
every  nerve.  Ere  she  had  time  to  recover  herself,  the 
low,  sweet  voice  of  Mary  broke  upon  the  hushed  air  of 
the  room,  and  she  sung — 


72  TEN   NIGHTS   IN  A   BAR-ROOM. 

"Jesus  can  make  a  dying  bed 

Feel  soft  as  downy  pillows  are, 
While  on  his  breast  I  lean  my  head, 

And  breathe  my  life  out,  sweetly,  there." 

It  was  impossible  for  Mrs.  Morgan  longer  to  repress 
her  feelings.  As  the  softly  breathed  strain  died  away, 
her  sobs  broke  forth,  and  for  a  time  she  wept  violently. 

"  There,"  said  the  child, — "  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you." 
I  only  told  father,  because — because  he  promised  not  to 
go  to  the  tavern  any  more  until  I  got  well ;  and  I'm  not 
going  to  get  well.  So,  you  see,  mother,  he'll  never  go 
again — never — never — never.  Oh  dear !  how  my  head 
pains.  Mr.  Slade  threw  it  so  hard.  But  it  didn't  strike 
father ;  and  I'm  so  glad.  How  it  would  have  hurt  him 
— poor  father  !  But  he'll  never  go  there  any  more ;  and 
that  will  be  so  good,  won't  it,  mother?" 

A  light  broke  over  her  face ;  but  seeing  that  her 
mother  still  wept,  she  said — 

"Don't  cry.     Maybe  I'll  be  better." 

And  then  her  eyes  closed  heavily,  and  she  slept  again. 

"  Joe,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan,  after  she  had  in  a  measure 
recovered  herself — she  spoke  firmly.  "  Joe,  did  you 
hear  what  she  said?" 

Morgan  only  answered  with  a  groan. 

"  Her  mind  wanders ;  and  yet  she  may  have  spoken 
only  the  truth." 

He  groaned  again. 

"  If  she  should  die,  Joe—" 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  73 

"  Don't ;  oh,  don't  talk  so,  Fanny.     She's  not  going 
to  die.     It's  only  because  she's  a  little  light-headed." 
"Why  is  she  light-headed,  Joe?" 
"  It's  the  fever — only  the  fever,  Fanny." 
"  It  was  the  blow,  and  the  wound  on  her  head,  that 
caused  the  fever.     How  do  we  know  the  extent  of  injury 
on  the  brain  ?    Doctor  Green  looked  very  serious.     I'm 
afraid,  husband,  that  the  worst  is  before  us.     I've  borne 
and  suffered  a  great  deal — only  God  knows  how  much, 
— I  pray  that  I  may  have  strength  to  bear  this  trial  also. 
Dear  child  !  She  is  better  fitted  for  heaven  than  for  earth ; 
and  it  may  be  that  God  is  about  to  take  her  to  himself. 
She's  been  a  great  comfort  to  me — and  to  you,  Joe,  more 
like  a  guardian  angel  than  a  child." 

Mrs.  Morgan  had  tried  to  speak  very  firmly ;  but  as 
sentence  followed  sentence,  her  voice  lost  more  and  more 
of  its  even  tone.  With  the  closing  words  all  self-control 
vanished  ;  and  she  wept  bitterly.  What  could  her  feeble 
erring  husband  do,  but  weep  with  her  ? 

"  Joe," — Mrs.  Morgan  aroused  herself  as  quickly  as 
possible,  for  she  had  that  to  say  which  she  feared  she 
might  not  have  ihe  heart  to  utter — "Joe,  if  Mary  dies, 
you  cannot  forget  the  cause  of  her  death." 
"Oh,  Fanny!  Fanny!" 
"Nor  the  hand  that  struck  the  cruel  blow." 
"Forget   it?      Never!      And  if   I    forgive   Simon 
Slade " 


74  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"Nor  the  place  where  the  blow  was  dealt,"  said  Mrs. 
Morgan,  interrupting  him. 

"Poor — poor  child!"  moaned  the  conscience-stricken 
man. 

"  Nor  your  promise,  Joe — nor  your  promise  given  to 
our  dying  child." 

"Father!  Father!  Dear  father!"  Mary's  eyes 
suddenly  unclosed,  as  she  called  her  father  eagerly. 

"  Here  I  am,  love.  What  is  it  ?"  And  Joe  Morgan 
pressed  up  to  the  bed-side. 

"  Oh !  it's  you,  father  !  I  dreamed  that  you  had 
gone  out,  and — and — but  you  won't,  will  you,  dear  father  ?" 

"No,  love— no." 

"Never  any  more  until  I  get  well." 

"  I  must  go  out  to  work,  you  know,  Mary." 

"  At  night,  father.  That's  what  I  mean.  You  won't, 
will  you?" 

"No,  dear,  no." 

A  soft  smile  trembled  over  the  child's  face ;  her  eye 
lids  drooped  wearily,  and  she  fell  off  into  slumber  again. 
She  seemed  not  so  restless  as  before — did  not  moan,  nor 
throw  herself  about  in  her  sleep. 

"  She's  better,  I  think,"  said  Morgan,  as  he  bent  over 
her,  and  listened  to  her  softer  breathing. 

"It  seems  so,"  replied  his  wife.  "And  now,  Joe, 
you  must  go  to  bed  again.  I  will  lie  down  here  with 
Mary,  and  be  ready  to  do  any  thing  for  her  that  she 
may  want." 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  75 

"  I  don't  feel  sleepy.  I'm  sure  I  couldn't  close  my 
eyes.  So  let  me  sit  up  with  Mary.  You  are  tired  and 
worn  out." 

Mrs.  Morgan  looked  earnestly  into  her  husband's 
face.  His  eyes  were  unusually  bright,  and  she  noticed 
a  slight  nervous  restlessness  about  his  lips.  She  laid 
one  of  her  hands  on  his,  and  perceived  a  slight  tremor. 

"  You  must  go  to  bed,"  she  spoke  firmly.  "  I  shall 
not  let  you  sit  up  with  Mary.  So  go  at  once."  And 
she  drew  him  almost  by  force  into  the  next  room. 

"  It's  no  use,  Fanny.  There's  not  a  wink  of  sleep  in 
my  eyes.  I  shall  lie  awake  anyhow.  So  do  you  get  a 
little  rest." 

Even  as  he  spoke  there  were  nervous  twitchings  of 
his  arms  and  shoulders  ;  and  as  he  entered  the  chamber, 
impelled  by  his  wife,  he  stopped  suddenly  and  said — 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Where  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Morgan. 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing — I  see.  Only  one  of  my  old  boots. 
I  thought  it  a  great  black  cat." 

Oh  !  what  a  shudder  of  despair  seized  upon  the  heart 
of  the  wretched  wife.  Too  well  she  knew  the  fearful 
signs  of  that  terrible  madness  from  which,  twice  before, 
he  had  suffered.  She  could  have  looked  on  calmly  and 
seen  him  die — but,  "  Not  this — not  this  !  Oh,  Father  in 
heaven  !"  she  murmured,  with  such  a  heart-sinking  that 
it  seemed  as  if  life  itself  would  go  out. 

"  Get  into  bed,  Joe ;  get  into  bed  as  quickly  as  possible." 


76  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

Morgan  was  now  passive  in  the  hands  of  his  wife,  and 
obeyed  her  almost  like  a  child.  He  had  turned  down 
the  bedclothes,  and  was  about  getting  in,  when  he 
started  back,  with  a  look  of  disgust  and  alarm. 

"  There's  nothing  there,  Joe.  What's  the  matter  with 
you?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Fanny,"  and  his  teeth  rat 
tled  together,  as  he  spoke.  "  I  thought  there  was  a 
great  toad  under  the  clothes." 

"  How  foolish  you  are !" — yet  tears  were  blinding  her 
eyes  as  she  said  this.  "  It's  only  fancy.  Get  into  bed  and 
shut  your  eyes.  I'll  make  you  another  cup  of  strong 
coffee.  Perhaps  that  will  do  you  good.  You're  only  a 
little  nervous.  Mary's  sickness  has  disturbed  you." 

Joe  looked  cautiously  under  the  bedclothes,  as  he 
lifted  them  up  still  farther,  and  peered  beneath. 

"  You  know  there's  nothing  in  your  bed ;  see  !" 

And  Mrs.  Morgan  threw,  with  a  single  jerk,  all  the 
clothes  upon  the  floor. 

"  There  now !  look  for  yourself.  Now  shut  your 
eyes,"  she  continued,  as  she  spread  the  sheet  and  quilt 
over  him,  after  his  head  was  on  the  pillow.  "  Shut  them 
tight  and  keep  them  so  until  I  boil  the  water  and  make 
a  cup  of  coffee.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  it's 
nothing  but  fancy." 

Morgan  closed  his  eyes  firmly,  and  drew  the  clothes 
over  his  head. 

"I'll  be  back  in  a  very  few  minutes,"  said  his  wife, 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  77 

going  hurriedly  to  the  door.  Ere  leaving,  however, 
she  partly  turned  her  head  and  glanced  back.  There 
sat  her  husband,  upright  and  staring  fearfully. 

"  Don't,  Fanny !  don't  go  away  !"  he  cried,  in  a  fright 
ened  voice. 

"  Joe  !  Joe  !  why  will  you  be  so  foolish  ?  It's  nothing 
but  imagination.  Now  do  lie  down  and  shut  your  eyes. 
Keep  them  shut.  There  now." 

And  she  laid  a  hand  over  his  eyes,  and  pressed  it 
down  tightly. 

"  I  wish  Doctor  Green  was  here,"  said  the  wretched 
man.  "  He  could  give  me  something." 

"  Shall  I  go  for  him  ?" 

"  Go,  Fanny  !    Run  over  right  quickly." 

"  But  you  won't  keep  in  bed." 

"Yes,  I  will.  There  now."  And  he  drew  the  clothes 
over  his  face.  "  There;  I'll  lie  just  so  until  you  come 
back.  Now  run,  Fanny,  and  don't  stay  a  minute." 

Scarcely  stopping  to  think,  Mrs.  Morgan  went  hur 
riedly  from  the  room,  and  drawing  an  old  shawl  over 
her  head,  started  with  swift  feet  for  the  residence  of 
Doctor  Green,  which  was  not  very  far  away.  The  kind 
doctor  understood,  at  a  word,  the  sad  condition  of  her 
husband,  and  promised  to  attend  him  immediately. 
Back  she  flew  at  even  a  wilder  speed,  her  heart  throb 
bing  with  vague  apprehension.  Oh  !  what  a  fearful  cry 
was  that  which  smote  her  ears  as  she  came  within  a 
few  paces  of  home.  She  knew  the  voice,  changed  as  it 

7* 


78  TEN   WIGHTS    IN   A    BAR-BOOM. 

was  by  terror,  and  a  shudder  almost  palsied  her  heart. 
At  a  single  bound  she  cleared  the  intervening  space, 
and  in  the  next  moment  was  in  the  room  where  she  had 
left  her  husband.  But  he  was  not  there !  With  sus 
pended  breath,  and  feet  that  scarcely  obeyed  her  will, 
she  passed  into  the  chamber  where  little  Mary  lay. 
Not  here ! 

"  Joe  !  husband !"  she  called  in  a  faint  voice. 

"Here  he  is,  mother."  And  now  she  saw  that  Joo 
had  crept  into  the  bed  behind  the  sick  child,  and  that 
her  arm  was  drawn  tightly  around  his  neck. 

"You  won't  let  them  hurt  me,  will  you,  dear?"  said 
the  poor,  frightened  victim  of  a  terrible  mania. 

"Nothing  will  hurt  you,  father,"  answered  Mary,  in 
a  voice  that  showed  her  mind  to  be  clear,  and  fully  con 
scious  of  her  parent's  true  condition. 

She  had  seen  him  thus  before.  Ah !  what  an  expe 
rience  for  a  child ! 

"You're  an  angel — my  good  angel,  Mary,"  he  mur 
mured,  in  a  voice  yet  trembling  with  fear.  "  Pray  for 
me,  my  child.  Oh,  ask  your  Father  in  heaven  to  save 
me  from  these  dreadful  creatures.  There  now  !"  he 
cried,  rising  up  suddenly,  and  looking  toward  the 
door.  "  Keep  out !  Go  away  !  You  can't  come  in  here. 
This  is  Mary's  room ;  and  she's  an  angel.  Ah,  ha !  I 
knew  you  wouldn't  dare  come  in  here — 

"A single  saint  can  put  to  flight, 

Ten  thousand  blustering  sons  of  night." 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  79 

He  added  in  a  half  wandering  way,  yet  with  an  as 
sured  voice,  as  he  laid  himself  back  upon  his  pillow,  and 
drew  the  clothes  over  his  head. 

"Poor  father!"  sighed  the  child,  as  she  gathered  both 
arms  about  his  neck.  "  I  will  be  your  good  angel.  No 
thing  shall  hurt  you  here.'* 

"I  knew  I  would  be  safe  where  you  were,"  he  whis 
pered  back — "  I  knew  it,  and  so  I  came.  Kiss  me, 
love." 

How  pure  and  fervent  was  the  kiss  laid  instantly  upon 
his  lips !  There  was  a  power  in  it  to  remand  the  evil 
influences  that  were  surrounding  and  pressing  in  upon 
him  like  a  flood.  All  was  quiet  now,  and  Mrs.  Morgan 
neither  by  word  nor  movement  disturbed  the  solemn 
stillness  that  reigned  in  the  apartment.  In  a  few  mi 
nutes  the  deepened  breathing  of  her  husband  gave  a 
blessed  intimation  that  he  was  sinking  into  sleep.  Oh, 
sleep  !  sleep !  How  tearfully,  in  times  past,  had  she 
prayed  that  he  might  sleep  ;  and  yet  no  sleep  came  for 
hours  and  days — even  though  powerful  opiates  were 
given — until  exhausted  nature  yielded,  and  then  sleep 
had  a  long,  long  struggle  with  death.  Now  the  sphere 
of  his  loving,  innocent  child  seemed  to  have  overcome, 
at  least  for  the  time,  the  evil  influences  that  were  get 
ting  possession  even  of  his  external  senses.  Yes,  yes, 
he  was  sleeping!  Oh,  what  a  fervent  "Thank  God!" 
went  up  from  the  heart  of  his  stricken  wife. 

Soon  the  quick  ears  of  Mrs.  Morgan  detected  the 


80  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

doctor's  approaching  footsteps,  and  she  met  him  at  the 
door  with  a  finger  on  her  lips.  A  whispered  word  or 
two  explained  the  better  aspect  of  affairs,  and  the  doctor 
said,  encouragingly, 

"  That's  good,  if  he  will  only  sleep  on." 

"  Do  you  think  he  will,  doctor  ?"  was  asked  anxiously. 

"  He  may.  But  we  cannot  hope  too  strongly.  It 
would  be  something  very  unusual." 

Both  passed  noiselessly  into  the  chamber.  Morgan 
still  slept,  and  by  his  deep  breathing  it  was  plain  that 
he  slept  soundly.  And  Mary,  too,  was  sleeping,  her 
face  now  laid  against  her  father's,  and  her  arms  still 
about  his  neck.  The  sight  touched  even  the  doctor's 
heart  and  moistened  his  eyes.  For  nearly  half  an  hour 
he  remained;  and  then,  as  Morgan  continued  to  sleep, 
he  left  medicine  to  be  given  immediately,  and  went 
home,  promising  to  call  early  in  the  morning. 

It  is  now  past  midnight,  and  we  leave  the  lonely,  sad- 
hearted  watcher  with  her  sick  ones. 


I  was  sitting,  with  a  newspaper  in  my  hand — not 
reading,  but  musing — at  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  late  in 
the  evening  marked  by  the  incidents  just  detailed. 

"Where's  your  mother?"  I  heard  Simon  Slade  in 
quire.  He  had  just  entered  an  adjoining  room. 

"  She's  gone  out  somewhere,"  was  answered  by  his 
daughter  Flora. 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  81 

"Where?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  How  long  has  she  been  away  ?" 

"  More  than  an  hour." 

"  And  you  don't  know  where  she  went  to  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

Nothing  more  was  said,  but  I  heard  the  landlord's 
heavy  feet  moving  backward  and  forward  across  the 
room  for  some  minutes. 

"Why,  Ann!  where  have  you  been?"  The  door  of 
the  next  room  had  opened  and  shut. 

"  Where  I  wish  you  had  been  with  me,"  was  answered 
in  a  very  firm  voice. 

"Where?" 

"  To  Joe  Morgan's." 

"  Humph  !"  Only  this  ejaculation  met  my  ears.  But 
something  was  said  in  a  low  voice,  to  which  Mrs.  Slade 
replied  with  some  warmth, 

"  If  you  don't  have  his  child's  blood  clinging  for  life 
to  your  garments,  you  may  be  thankful." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

"  All  that  my  words  indicate.  Little  Mary  is  very 
ill !" 

"Well,  what  of  it." 

"Much.  The  doctor  thinks  her  in  great  danger. 
The  cut  on  her  head  has  thrown  her  into  a  violent  fever, 
and  she  is  delirious.  Oh,  Simon  !  if  you  had  heard  what 
I  heard  to-night." 


82  TEN  NIGHTS   IN  A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  What  ?"  was  asked  in  a  growling  tone. 

"  She  is  out  of  her  mind,  as  I  said,  and  talks  a  great 
deal.  She  talked  about  you." 

"  Of  me  !    Well,  what  had  she  to  say  ?" 

"  She  said — so  pitifully — '  I  wish  Mr.  Slade  wouldn't 
look  so  cross  at  me.  He  never  did  when  I  went  to  the 
mill.  He  doesn't  take  me  on  his  knee  now,  and  stroke 
my  hair.  Oh  dear!'  Poor  child!  She  was  always  so  good." 

"•Did  she  say  that  ?"     Slade  seemed  touched. 

"  Yes,  and  a  great  deal  more.  Once  she  screamed 
out,  *  Oh  don't!  don't,  Mr.  Slade !  don't!  My  head!  my 
head!'  It  made  my  very  heart  ache.  I  can  never  for 
get  her  pale,  frightened  face,  nor  her  cry  of  fear. 
Simon — if  she  should  die  !" 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"  If  we  were  only  back  to  the  mill."  It  was  Mrs. 
Slade's  voice. 

"There,  now!  I  don't  want  to  hear  that  again," 
quickly  spoke  out  the  landlord.  "  I  made  a  slave  of 
myself  long  enough." 

"You  had  at  least  a  clear  conscience,"  his  wife  an 
swered. 

"Do  hush,  will  you  !"  Slade  was  now  angry.  "  One 
would  think,  by  the  way  you  talk  sometimes,  that  I  had 
broken  every  command  of  the  Decalogue." 

"  You  will  break  hearts  as  well  as  commandments,  if 
you  keep  on  for  a  few  years  as  you  have  begun — and 
rw:  i  souls  as  well  as  fortunes." 


KIGHT   THE   THIRD.  83 

Mrs.  Slade  spoke  calmly,  but  with  marked  severity 
of  tone.  Her  husband  answered  with  an  oath,  and  then 
left  the  room,  banging  the  door  after  him.  In  the  hush 
that  followed  I  retired  to  my  chamber,  and  lay  for  an 
hour  awak'.?,  pondering  on  all  I  had  just  heard.  What 
a  revelation  was  in  that  brief  passage  of  words  between 
the  landlord  and  his  excited  companion ! 


NIGHT    THE    FOURTH. 

of  f  ittle  Parg 


"  WHERE  are  you  going,  Ann  ?"  It  was  the  landlord's 
voice.  Time  —  a  little  after  dark. 

"  I'm  going  over  to  see  Mrs.  Morgan,"  answered  his 
wife. 

"What  for?" 

"  I  wish  to  go,"  was  replied. 

"  Well,  I  don't  wish  you  to  go,"  said  Slade,  in  a  very 
decided  way. 

"  I  can't  help  that,  Simon.  Mary,  I'm  told,  is  dying, 
and  Joe  is  in  a  dreadful  way.  I'm  needed  there  —  and 
so  are  you,  as  to  that  matter.  There  was  a  time  when, 
if  word  came  to  you  that  Morgan  or  his  family  were  in 
trouble  -  " 

"Do  hush,  will  you!"  exclaimed  the  landlord, 
angrily.  "I  won't  be  preached  to  in  this  way  any 
longer." 

"  Oh,  well  ;  then  don't  interfere  with  my  movements, 
Simon  ;  that's  all  I  have  to  say.  I'm  needed  over  there, 
as  I  just  said,  and  I'm  going." 

There  were  considerable  odds  against  him,  and  Slade, 
perceiving  this,  turned  off,  muttering  something  that  his 


NIGHT   THE   FOURTH.  85 

wife  did  not  hear,  and  sbe  went  on  her  way.  A  hurried 
walk  brought  her  to  the  wretched  home  of  the  poor 
drunkard,  whose  wife  met  her  at  the  door. 

"How  is  Mary?"  was  the  visitor's  earnest  inquiry. 

Mrs.  Morgan  tried  to  answer  the  question ;  but,  though 
her  lips  moved,  no  sounds  issued  therefrom. 

Mrs.  Slade  pressed  her  hands  tightly  in  both  of  hers ; 
and  then  passed  in  with  her  to  the  room  where  the  child 
lay.  A  glance  sufficed  to  tell  Mrs.  Slade,  that  death 
had  already  laid  his  icy  fingers  upon  her  brow. 

"  How  are  you,  dear  ?"  she  asked,  as  she  bent  over 
and  kissed  her. 

"Better,  I  thank  you?"  replied  Mary,  in  a  low 
whisper. 

Then  she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  her  mother's  face,  with 
a  look  of  inquiry. 

"What  is  it,  love?" 

"  Hasn't  father  waked  up  yet?" 

"  No,  dear." 

"  Won't  he  wake  up  soon  ?" 

"  He's  sleeping  very  soundly.  I  wouldn't  like  to  dis 
turb  him." 

"  Oh,  no ;  don't  disturb  him.  I  thought,  maybe,  he  was 
awake." 

And  the  child's  lids  drooped  languidly,  until  the  long 
lashes  lay  close  against  her  cheeks. 

There  was  silence  for  a  little  while,  and  then  Mrs. 
Morgan  said,  in  a  half-whisper  to  Mrs.  Slade, 


8G  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

"  Oh,  we've  had  such  a  dreadful  time  with  poor  Joe. 
He  got  in  that  terrible  way  again  last  night.  I  had  to 
go  for  Doctor  Green  and  leave  him  all  alone.  When  I 
came  back,  he  was  in  bed  with  Mary;  and  she,  dear  child  ! 
had  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  was  trying  to  comfort 
him  ;  and  would  you  believe  it,  he  went  off  to  sleep,  and 
slept  in  that  way  for  a  long  time.  The  doctor  came,  and 
when  he  saw  how  it  was,  left  some  medicine  for  him,  and 
went  away.  I  was  in  such  hopes  that  he  would  sleep  it 
all  off.  But  about  twelve  o'clock  he  started  up,  and 
sprung  out  of  bed  with  an  awful  scream.  Poor  Mary ! 
she  too  had  fallen  asleep.  The  cry  wakened  her,  and 
frightened  her  dreadfully.  She's  been  getting  worse 
ever  since,  Mrs.  Slade. 

"  Just  as  he  was  rushing  out  of  the  room,  I  caught 
him  by  the  arm,  and  it  took  all  my  strength  to  hold  him. 

"  '  Father  !  father  !'  Mary  called  after  him,  as  soon 
as  she  was  awake  enough  to  understand  what  was  the 
matter — ' Don't  go  out,  father;  there's  nothing  here.' 

"  He  looked  back  toward  the  bed,  in  a  frightful  way. 

" '  See,  father !'  and  the  dear  child  turned  down  the  quilt 
and  sheet,  in  order  to  convince  him  that  nothing  was  in 
the  bed.  'I'm  here,'  she  added.  i  I'm  not  afraid.  Come, 
father.  If  there's  nothing  here  to  hurt  me,  there's 
nothing  to  hurt  you.' 

"  There  was  something  so  assuring  in  this,  that  Joe 
took  a  step  or  two  toward  the  bed,  looking  sharply  into 
it  as  he  did  so.  From  the  bed  his  eyes  wandered  up  to 


NIGHT  THE  FOURTH.  87 

the  ceiling,  and  the  old  look  of  terror  came  into  his 
face. 

"  '  There  it  is  now !  Jump  out  of  bed,  quick  !  Jump  out, 
-Mary !'  he  cried.  <  See  !  it's  right  over  your  head.' 

"  Mary  showed  no  sign  of  fear  as  she  lifted  her  eyes 
to  the  ceiling,  and  gazed  steadily,  for  a  few  moments,  in 
that  direction. 

" '  There's  nothing  there,  father,'  said  she,  in  a  con 
fident  voice. 

"  i  It's  gone  now,'  Joe  spoke  in  a  tone  of  relief.  '  Your 
angel-look  drove  it  away.  Aha  !  There  it  is  now,  creep 
ing  along  the  floor!'  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  fearfully; 
starting  away  from  where  he  stood. 

"  *  Here,  father !  Here  !'  Mary  called  to  him,  and  he 
sprung  into  the  bed 'again;  while  she  gathered  her  arms 
about  him  tightly,  saying,  in  a  low,  soothing  voice, 
— <  Nothing  can  harm  you  here,  father.' 

"  Without  a  moment's  delay,  I  gave  him  the  morphine 
left  by  Doctor  Green.  He  took  it  eagerly,  and  then 
crouched  down  in  the  bed,  while  Mary  continued  to  as 
sure  him  of  perfect  safety.  So  long  as  he  was  clearly 
conscious  as  to  where  he  was,  he  remained  perfectly  still. 
But,  as  soon  as  partial  slumber  came,  he  would  scream 
out,  and  spring  from  the  bed  in  terror,  and  then  it  would 
take  us  several  minutes  to  quiet  him  again.  Six  times 
during  the  night  did  this  occur ;  and  as  often,  Mary 
coaxed  him  back.  The  morphine  I  continued  to  give,  as 
the  doctor  had  directed.  By  morning,  the  opiates  had 


88  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

done  their  work,  and  he  was  sleeping  soundly.  When 
the  doctor  came,  we  removed  him  to  his  own  bed.  He 
is  still  asleep ;  and  I  begin  to  feel  uneasy,  lest  he  should 
never  awake  again.  I  have  heard  of  this  happening." 

"  See  if  father  isn't  awake,"  said  Mary,  raising  her 
head  from  the  pillow.  She  had  not  heard  what  passed 
between  her  mother  and  Mrs.  Slade,  for  the  conversation 
was  carried  on  in  low  voices. 

Mrs.  Morgan  stepped  to  the  door,  and  looked  into  the 
room  where  her  husband  lay. 

"  He  is  still  asleep,  dear,"  she  remarked,  coming  back 
to  the  bed. 

"  Oh !  I  wish  he  was  awake.  I  want  to  see  him  so 
much.  Won't  you  call  him,  mother  ?" 

"I  have  called  him  a  good  many  times.  But  you 
know  the  doctor  gave  him  opium.  He  can't  wake  up  yet." 

"He's  been  sleeping  a  very  long  time;  don't  you 
think  so,  mother  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  it  does  seem  a  long  time.  But  it's  best 
for  him.  He'll  be  better  when  he  wakes." 

Mary  closed  her  eyes,  wearily.  How  deathly  white 
was  her  face — how  sunken  her  eyes — how  sharply  con 
tracted  her  features ! 

"I've  given  her  up,  Mrs.  Slade,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan, 
in  a  low,  rough,  choking  whisper,  as  she  leaned  nearer 
to  her  friend.  "  I've  given  her  up  !  The  worst  is  over  ; 
but,  oh !  it  seemed  as  though  my  heart  would  break  in 
the  struggle.  Dear  child  !  In  all  the  darkness  of  my 


NIGHT   THE    FOURTH.  89 

way,  she  has  helped  and  comforted  me.  Without  her, 
it  would  have  been  the  blackness  of  darkness." 

" Father!  father!"  The  voice  of  Mary  broke  out 
with  a  startling  quickness. 

Mrs.  Morgan  turned  to  the  bed,  and  laying  her  hand 
on  Mary's  arm  said — 

"  He's  still  sound  asleep,  dear." 

"  No,  he  isn't,  mother.  I  heard  him  move.  Won't 
you  go  in  and  see  if  he  is  awake  ?" 

In  order  to  satisfy  the  child,  her  mother  left  the  room. 
To  her  surprise,  she  met  the  eyes  of  her  husband  as  she 
entered  the  chamber  where  he  lay.  He  looked  at  her 
calmly. 

"What  does  Mary  want  with  me?"  he  asked. 

"  She  wishes  to  see  you.  She's  called  you  so  many, 
many  times.  Shall  I  bring  her  in  here?" 

"No.     I'll  get  up  and  dress  myself." 

"  I  wouldn't  do  that.     You've  been  sick." 

"  Oh,  no.     I  don't  feel  sick." 

"  Father !  father !"  The  clear,  earnest  voice  of 
Mary  was  heard  calling. 

"  I'm  coming,  dear,"  answered  Morgan. 

"Come  quick,  father,  won't  you?" 

"Yes,  love."  And  Morgan  got  up  and  dressed  him 
self — but  with  unsteady  hands,  and  every  sign  of  nervous 
prostration.  In  a  little  while,  with  the  assistance  of  his 
wife,  he  was  ready,  and,  supported  by  her,  came  tottering 
into  the  room  where  Mary  was  lying. 

b* 


90  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  Oh,  father  !" — What  a  light  broke  over  her  counte 
nance. — "  I've  been  waiting  for  you  so  long.  I  thought 
you  were  never  going  to  wake  up.  Kiss  me,  father." 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mary?"  asked  Morgan,  ten 
derly,  as  he  laid  his  face  down  upon  the  pillow  beside  her. 

"  Nothing,  father.  I  don't  wish  for  any  thing.  I  only 
wanted  to  see  you."  > 

"I'm  here,  now,  love." 

"Dear  father!"  How  earnestly,  yet  tenderly  she 
spoke,  laying  her  small  hand  upon  his  face.  "  You've 
always  been  good  to  me,  father." 

"  Oh,  no.  I've  never  been  good  to  anybody,"  sobbed 
the  weak,  broken-spirited  man,  as  he  raised  himself  from 
the  pillow. 

How  deeply  touched  was  Mrs.  Slade,  as  she  sat,  the 
silent  witness  of  this  scene  ! 

"You  haven't  been  good  to  yourself,  father — but 
you've  always  been  good  to  us." 

""Don't,  Mary !  don't  say  any  thing  about  that,"  inter 
posed  Morgan.  "  Say  that  I've  been  very  bad — very 
wicked.  Oh,  Mary,  dear !  I  only  wish  that  I  was  as 
good  as  you  are  ;  I'd  like  to  die,  then,  and  go  right  away 
from  this  evil  world.  I  wish  there  was  no  liquor  to  drink 
— no  taverns — no  bar-rooms.  Oh  dear  !  Oh  dear !  I 
wish  I  was  dead." 

And  the  weak,  trembling,  half-palsied  man  laid  his 
face  again  upon  the  pillow  beside  his  child,  and  sobbed 
aloud. 


NIGHT   THE   FOURTH.  91 

What  an  oppressive  silence  reigned  for  a  time  through 
the  roomj 

"Father."  The  stillness  was  broken  by  Mary.  Her 
voice  was  clear  and  even.  "  Father,  I  want  to  tell  you 
something  ?" 

"What  is  it,  Mary?" 

"There'll  be  nobody  to  go  for  you,  father."  The 
child's  lips  now  quivered,  and  tears  filled  into  her 
eyes. 

"  Don't  talk  about  that,  Mary.  I'm  not  going  out  in 
the  evening  any  more  until  you  get  well.  Don't  you  re 
member  I  promised  ?" 

"But,  father"— She  hesitated. 

"What,  dear?" 

"  I'm  going  away  to  leave  you  and  mother." 

"  Oh,  no — no — no,  Mary !  Don't  say  that." — The  poor 
man's  voice  was  broken. — "  Don't  say  that !  We  can't  let 
you  go,  dear." 

"  God  has  called  me."  The  child's  voice  had  a  solemn 
tone,  and  her  eyes  turned  reverently  upward. 

"  I  wish  he  would  call  me  !  Oh,  I  wish  he  would  call 
me!"  groaned  Morgan,  hiding  his  face  in  his  hands. 
"  What  shall  I  do  when  you  are  gone  ?  Oh  dear!  Oh  dear!" 

"Father!"  Mary  spoke  calmly  again.  "You  are 
not  ready  to  go  yet.  God  will  let  you  live  here  longer, 
that  you  may  get  ready." 

"  IIow  can  I  get  ready  without  you  to  help  me,  Mary  ? 
My  angel  child !" 


92  TEN    NIGHTS   IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

"  Haven't  I  tried  to  help  you,  father,  oh,  so  many 
times?"  said  Mary. 

"  Yes — yes — you've  always  tried." 

"But  it  wasn't  any  use.  You  would  go  out — you 
would  go  to  the  tavern.  It  seemed  almost  as  if  you 
couldn't  help  it." 

Morgan  groaned  in  spirit. 

"  Maybe  I  can  help  you  better,  father,  after  I  die. 
I  love  you  so  much,  that  I  am  sure  God  will  let  me  come 
to  you,  and  stay  with  you  always,  and  be  your  angel. 
Don't  you  think  he  will,  mother  ?" 

But  Mrs.  Morgan's  heart  was  too  full.  She  did  not 
even  try  to  answer,  but  sat,  with  streaming  eyes,  gazing 
upon  her  child's  face. 

"Father,  I  dreamed  something  about  you,  while  I 
slept  to-day."  Mary  again  turned  to  her  father. 

"What  was  it,  dear?" 

"  I  thought  it  was  night,  and  that  I  was  still  sick. 
You  promised  not  to  go  out  again  until  I  was  well.  But 
you  did  go  out ;  and  I  thought  you  went  over  to  Mr. 
Blade's  tavern.  When  1  knew  this,  I  felt  as  strong  as 
when  I  was  well,  and  I  got  up  and  dressed  myself,  and 
started  out  after  you.  But  I  hadn't  gone  far,  before  I 
met  Mr.  Slade's  great  bull-dog  Nero,  and  he  growled 
at  me  so  dreadfully  that  I  was  frightened  and  ran  back 
home.  Then  I  started  again,  and  went  away  round  by 
Mr.  Mason's.  But  there  was  Nero  in  the  road,  and 
this  time  he  caught  my  dress  in  his  mouth  and  tore  a 


KIGIIT   THE   FOURTH.  93 

great  piece  out  of  the  skirt.  I  ran  back  again,  and  he 
chased  me  all  the  way  home.  Just  as  I  got  to  the  door, 
I  looked  around,  and  there  was  Mr.  Slade,  setting  Nero 
on  me.  As  soon  as  I  saw  Mr.  Slade,  though  he  looked 
at  me  very  wicked,  I  lost  all  my  fear,  and  turning 
around,  I  walked  past  Nero,  who  showed  his  teeth,  and 
growled  as  fiercely  as  ever,  but  didn't  touch  me.  Then 
Mr.  Slade  tried  to  stop  me.  But  I  didn't  mind  him, 
and  kept  right  on,  until  I  came  to  the  tavern,  and  there 
you  stood  in  the  door.  And  you  were  dressed  so  nice. 
You  had  on  a  new  hat  and  a  new  coat ;  and  your  boots 
were  new,  and  polished  just  like  Judge  Hammond's.  I 
said — '  0  father  !  is  this  you  ?'  And  then  you  took  me 
up  in  your  arms  and  kissed  me,  and  said — '  Yes,  Mary, 
I  am  your  real  father.  Not  old  Joe  Morgan — but  Mr. 
Morgan  now.'  It  seemed  all  so  strange,  that  I  looked 
into  the  bar-room  to  see  who  was  there.  But  it  wasn't 
a  bar-room  any  longer ;  but  a  store  full  of  goods.  The 
sign  of  the  Sickle  and  Sheaf  was  taken  down  ;  and  over 
the  door  I  now  read  your  name,  father.  Oh  !  I  was  so 
glad,  that  I  awoke — and  then  I  cried  all  to  myself,  for 
it  was  only  a  dream." 

The  last  words  were  said  very  mournfully,  and  with  a 
drooping  of  Mary's  lids,  until  the  tear-gemmed  lashes 
lay  close  upon  her  cheeks.  Another  period  of  deep 
silence  followed — for  the  oppressed  listeners  gave  no 
utterance  to  what  was  in  their  hearts.  Feeling  was  too 
strong  for  speech.  Nearly  five  minutes  glided  away, 


04  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

and  then  Mary  whispered  the  name  of  her  father,  but 
without  opening  her  eyes. 

Morgan  answered,  and  bent  down  his  ear. 

"You  will  only  have  mother  left,"  she  said — "only 
mother.  And  she  cries  so  much  when  you  are  away." 

"I  won't  leave  her,  Mary,  only  when  I  go  to  work," 
said  Morgan,  whispering  back  to  the  child.  "  And  I'll 
never  go  out  at  night  any  more." 

"Yes;  you  promised  me  that." 

"  And  I'll  promise  more." 

"What,  father?" 

"Never  to  go  into  a  tavern  again." 

"  Never !" 

"  No,  never.    And  I'll  promise  still  more." 

"Father?" 

"  Never  to  drink  a  drop  of  liquor  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  Oh,  father  !  dear,  dear  father !"  And  with  a  cry  of 
joy  Mary  started  up  and  flung  herself  upon  his  breast. 
Morgan  drew  his  arms  tightly  around  her,  and  sat  for  a 
long  time,  with  his  lips  pressed  to  her  cheek — while  she 
lay  against  his  bosom  as  still  as  death.  As  death  ? 
Yes ;  for,  when  the  father  unclasped  his  arms,  the  spirit 
of  his  child  was  with  the  angels  of  the  resurrection ! 


It  was  my  fourth  evening  in  the  bar-room  of  the 
"  Sickle  and  Sheaf."  The  company  was  not  large,  nor 
in  very  gay  spirits.  All  had  heard  of  little  Mary's  ill- 


NIGHT   THE   FOURTH.  95 

ness ;  which  followed  so  quickly  on  the  blow  from  the 
tumbler,  that  none  hesitated  about  connecting  the  one  with 
the  other.  So  regular  had  been  the  child's  visits,  and  so 
gently  exerted,  yet  powerful,  her  influence  over  her 
father,  that  most,  of  the  frequenters  at  the  "  Sickle  and 
Sheaf  had  felt  for  her  a  more  than  common  interest; 
which  the  cruel  treatment  she  received,  and  the  subse 
quent  illness,  materially  heightened. 

"Joe  Morgan  hasn't  turned  up  this  evening,"  re 
marked  some  one. 

"And  isn't  likely  to  for  a  while,"  was  answered. 

"Why  not?"  inquired  the  first  speaker. 

"  They  say,  the  man  with  the  poker  is  after  him." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  that's  dreadful.  It's  the  second  or  third 
chase,  isn't  it?" 

"  Yes." 

"He'll  be  likely  to  catch  him  this  time." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"  Poor  devil !  It  won't  be  much  matter.  His  family 
will  be  a  great  deal  better  without  him." 

"It  will  be  a  blessing  to  them  if  he  dies." 

"Miserable,  drunken  wretch!"  muttered  Harvey 
Green,  who  was  present.  "He's  only  in  the  way  of 
everybody.  The  sooner  he's  off,  the  better." 

The  landlord  said  nothing.  He  stood  leaning  across 
the  bar,  looking  more  sober  than  usual. 

"That  was  rather  an  unlucky  affair  of  yours,  Simon. 
They  say  the  child  is  going  to  die." 


96  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

"Who  says  so  ?"  Slade  started,  scowled,  and  threw 
a  quick  glance  upon  the  speaker. 

"  Doctor  Green." 

"Nonsense!  Doctor  Green  never  said  any  such 
thing." 

"  Yes,  he  did,  though." 

"  Who  heard  him  ?" 

"I  did." 

"You  did?" 

"  Yes." 

"He  wasn't  in  earnest?"  A  slight  paleness  over 
spread  the  countenance  of  the  landlord. 

"  He  was,  though.  They  had  an  awful  time  there  last 
night." 

"  Where  ?" 

"  At  Joe  Morgan's.  Joe  .has  the  mania,  and  Mrs. 
Morgan  was  alone  with  him  and  her  sick  girl  all  night." 

"  He  deserves  to  have  it ;  that's  all  I've  got  to 
say."  Slade  tried  to  speak  with  a  kind  of  rough  indif 
ference. 

"  That's  pretty  hard  talk,"  said  one  of  the  company. 

"I  don't  care  if  it  is.  It's  the  truth.  What  else 
could  he  expect  ?" 

"  A  man  like  Joe  is  to  be  pitied,"  remarked  the  other. 

"  I  pity  his  family,"  said  Slade. 

"Especially  little  Mary."  The  words  were  uttered 
tauntingly,  and  produced  murmurs  of  satisfaction 
throughout  the  room. 


NIGHT   THE   FOURTH.  97 

Slade  started  back  from  where  he  stood,  in  an  impa 
tient  manner,  saying  something  that  I  did  not  hear. 

"  Look  here,  Simon,  I  heard  some  strong  suggestions 
over  at  Lawyer  Phillip's  office  to-day." 

Slade  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  speaker. 

"  If  that  child  should  die,  you'll  probably  have  to 
stand  a  trial  for  manslaughter." 

"No — girl-slaughter,"  said  Harvey  Green,  with  a 
cold,  inhuman  chuckle. 

"But,  I'm  in  earnest,"  said  the  other.  "Mr.  Phillips 
said  that  a  case  could  be  made  out  of  it." 

"  It  was  only  an  accident,  and  all  the  lawyers  in 
Christendom  can't  make  any  thing  more  of  it,"  re 
marked  Green,  taking  the  side  of  the  landlord,  and 
speaking  with  more  gravity  than  before. 

"  Hardly  an  accident,"  was  replied. 

"  He  didn't  throw  at  the  girl." 

"No  matter.  He  threw  a  heavy  tumbler  at  her 
father's  head.  The  intention  was  to  do  an  injury ;  and 
the  law  will  not  stop  to  make  any  nice  discriminations 
in  regard  to  the  individual  upon  whom  the  injury  was 
wrought.  Moreover,  who  is  prepared  to  say,  that  he 
didn't  aim  at  the  girl  ?" 

"  Any  man  who  intimates  such  a  thing  is  a  cursed 
liar !"  exclaimed  the  landlord,  half  maddened  by  the 
suggestion. 

"  I  won't  throw  a  tumbler  at  your  head,"  coolly  re 
marked  the  individual  whose  plain  speaking  had  so  irri- 


98  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

tated  Simon  Slade.  "  Throwing  tumblers  I  never 
thought  a  very  creditable  kind  of  argument — though, 
with  some  men,  when  cornered,  it  is  a  favourite  mode  of 
settling  a  question.  Now,  as  for  our  friend  the  land 
lord,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  that  his  new  business  doesn't 
seem  to  have  improved  either  his  manners  or  his  temper 
a  great  deal.  As  a  miller,  he  was  one  of  the  best-tem 
pered  men  in  the  world,  and  wouldn't  have  harmed  a 
kitten.  But,  now,  he  can  swear,  and  bluster,  and  throw 
glasses  at  people's  heads,  and  all  that  sort  of-thing,  with 
the  best  of  brawling  rowdies.  I'm  afraid  he's  taking 
lessons  in  a  bad  school — I  am." 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  any  right  to  insult  a  man  in 
his  own  house,"  answered  Slade,  in  a  voice  dropped  to  a 
lower  key  than  the  one  in  which  he  had  before  spoken. 

"I  had  no  intention  to  insult  you,"  said  the  other. 
"  I  was  only  speaking  supposinously,  and  in  view  of 
your  position  on  a  trial  for  manslaughter,  when  I  sug 
gested,  that  no  one  could  prove,  or  say,  that  you  didn't 
mean  to  strike  little  Mary,  when  you  threw  the  tumbler." 

"  Well,  I  didn't  mean  to  strike  her ;  and  I  don't  be 
lieve  there  is  a  man  in  this  bar-room  who  thinks  that  I 
did — not  one." 

"I'm  sure  I  do  not,"  said  the  individual  with  whom 
he  was  in  controversy.  "  Nor  I" — Nor  I" — went  round 
the  room. 

"  But,  as  I  wished  to  set  forth,"  was  continued,  "the 
case  will  not  be  so  plain  a  one  when  it  finds  its  way  into 


KIGIIT   THE    FOURTH.  99 

court,  and  twelve  men,  to  each  of  whom  you  may  be  a 
stranger,  come  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  the  act.  The 
slightest  twist  in  the  evidence,  the  prepossessions  of  a 
witness,  or  the  bad  tact  of  the  prosecution,  may  cause 
things  to  look  so  dark  on  your  side  as  to  leave  you  but 
little  chance.  For  my  part,  if  the  child  should  die,  I 
think  your  chances  for  a  term  in  the  state's  prison  are 
as  eight  to  ten ;  and  I  should  call  that  pretty  close 
cutting." 

I  looked  attentively  at  the  man  who  said  this,  all  the 
while  he  was  speaking,  but  could  not  clearly  make  out 
whether  he  were  altogether  in  earnest,  or  merely  trying 
to  worry  the  mind  of  Slade.  That  he  was  successful  in 
accomplishing  the  latter,  was  very  plain ;  for  the  land 
lord's  countenance  steadily  lost  colour,  and  became  over 
cast  with  alarm.  With  that  evil  delight  which  some 
men  take  in  giving  pain,  others,  seeing  Slade's  anxious 
looks,  joined  in  the  persecution,  and  soon  made  the 
landlord's  case  look  black  enough;  and  the  landlord 
himself  almost  as  frightened  as  a  criminal  just  under 
arrest. 

"  It's  bad  business,  and  no  mistake,"  said  one. 

"  Yes,  bad  enough.  I  wouldn't  be  in  his  shoes  for 
his  coat,"  remarked  another.' 

"For  his  coat?  No,  not  for  his  whole  wardrobe," 
said  a  third. 

"  Nor  for  the  Sickle  and  Sheaf  thrown  into  the  bar 
gain,"  added  a  fourth. 


100  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  It  will  be  a  clear  case  of  manslaughter,  and  no 
mistake.  What  is  the  penalty?" 

"From  two  to  ten  years  in  the  penitentiary,"  was 
readily  answered. 

"  They'll  give  him  five,  I  reckon." 

«  No — not  more  than  two.  It  will  be  hard  to  prove 
malicious  intention." 

"  I  don't  know  that.  I've  heard  him  curse  the  girl 
and  threaten  her  many  a  time.  Haven't  you?" 

«Yes"— "Yes"— "  I  have,  often,"  ran  around  the 
bar-room. 

"You'd  better  hang  me  at  once,"  said  Slade,  affect 
ing  to  laugh. 

At  this  moment,  the  door  behind  Slade  opened,  and  I 
saw  his  wife's  anxious  face  thrust  in  for  a  moment.  She 
said  something  to  her  husband,  who  uttered  a  low  ejacu 
lation  of  surprise,  and  went  out  quickly. 

"  What's  the  matter  now?"  asked  one  of  another. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  little  Mary  Morgan  was 
dead,"  was  suggested. 

"I  heard  her  say  dead,"  remarked  one  who  was 
standing  near  the  bar. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Frank  ?"  inquired  several  voices, 
as  the  landlord's  son  came  in  through  the  door  out  of 
which  his  father  had  passed. 

"Mary  Morgan  is  dead,"  answered  the  boy. 

"Poor  child!     Poor  child!"  sighed  one,  in  genuine* 


NIGHT   THE    FOURTH.  101 

regret   at   the   not  unlocked  for  intelligence.     "Her 
trouble  is  over." 

And  there  was  not  one  present,  but  Harvey  Green, 
who  did  not  utter  some  word  of  pity  or  sympathy.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  looked  as  much  of  contempt 
and  indifference  as  he  thought  it  prudent  to  express. 

"  See  here,  boys,"  spoke  out  one  of  the  company, 
"can't  we  do  something  for  poor  Mrs.  Morgan  ?  Can't 
we  make  up  a  purse  for  her  ?" 

"That's  it,"  was  quickly  responded;  "I'm  good  for 
three  dollars ;  and  there  they  are,"  drawing  out  the 
money  and  laying  it  upon  the  counter. 

"  And  here  are  five  to  go  with  them,"  said  I,  quickly 
stepping  forward,  and  placing  a  five-dollar  bill  along 
side  of  the  first  contribution. 

"  Here  are  five  more,"  added  a  third  individual.  And 
BO  it  went  on,  until  thirty  dollars  were  paid  down  for 
the  benefit  of  Mrs.  Morgan. 

"  Into  whose  hands  shall  this  be  placed  ?"  was  next 
asked. 

"  Let  me  suggest  Mrs.  Slade,"  said  I.  "  To  my  cer 
tain  knowledge,  she  has  been  with  Mrs.  Morgan  to 
night.  I  know  that  she  feels  in  her  a  true  woman's 
interest." 

"  Just  the  person,"  was  answered.  "Frank,  tell  your 
mother  we  would  like  to  see  her.  Ask  her  to  step  into 
the  sitting-room." 

In  a  few  moments  the  boy  came  back,  and  said  that 
9* 


102  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

his  mother  would  see  us  in  the  next  room,  into  which 
we  all  passed.  Mrs.  Slade  stood  near  the  table,  on 
which  burned  a  lamp.  I  noticed  that  her  eyes  were  red, 
and  that  there  was  on  her  countenance  a  troubled  and 
sorrowful  expression. 

"We  have  just  heard,"  said  one  of  the  company, 
"that  little  Mary  Morgan  is  dead." 

"Yes — it  is  too  true,"  answered  Mrs.  Slade,  mourn 
fully.  "I  iave  just  left  there.  Poor  child!  she  has 
passed  from  an  evil  world." 

"Evil  it  has  indeed  been  to  her,"  was  remarked. 

"You  may  well  say  that.  And  yet,  amid  all  the 
evil,  she  has  been  an  angel  of  mercy.  Her  last  thought 
in  dying  was  of  her  miserable  father.  For  him,  at  any 
time,  she  would  have  laid  down  her  life  willingly." 

"Her  mother  must  be  nearly  broken-hearted.  Mary 
is  the  last  of  her  children." 

"  And  yet  the  child's  death  may  prove  a  blessing  to 
her." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  Her  father  promised  Mary,  just  at  the  last  moment 
— solemnly  promised  her — that,  henceforth,  he  would 
never  taste  liquor.  That  was  all  her  trouble.  That 
was  the  thorn  in  her  dying  pillow.  But  he  plucked  it 
out,  and  she  went  to  sleep,  lying  against  his  heart.  Oh, 
gentlemen  !  it  was  the  most  touching  sight  I  ever  saw." 

All  present  seemed  deeply  moved. 

"  They  are  very  poor  and  wretched,"  was  said. 


NIGHT  THE   FOURTH.  103 

"Poor  and  miserable  enough,"  answered  Mrs. 
Slade. 

"  We  have  just  been  taking  up  a  collection  for  Mrs. 
Morgan.  Here  is  the  money,  Mrs.  Slade — thirty  dol 
lars — we  place  it  in  your  hands  for  her  benefit.  Do 
with  it,  for  her,  as  you  may  see  best." 

"  Oh,  gentlemen !"  What  a  quick  gleam  went  over 
the  face  of  Mrs.  Slade.  "  I  thank  you,  from  my  heart, 
in  the  name  of  that  unhappy  one,  for  this  act  of  true 
benevolence.  To  you  the  sacrifice  has  been  small ;  to 
her  the  benefit  will  be  great  indeed.  A  new  life  will,  I 
trust,  be  commenced  by  her  husband,  and  this  timely 
aid  will  be  something  to  rest  upon,  until  he  can  get  into 
better  employment  than  he  now  has.  Oh,  gentlemen ! 
let  me  urge  on  you,  one  and  all,  to  make  common  cause 
in  favour  of  Joe  Morgan.  His  purposes  are  good  now ; 
he  means  to  keep  his  promise  to  his  dying  child — means 
to  reform  his  life.  Let  the  good  impulses  that  led  to 
this  act  of  relief,  further  prompt  you  to  watch  over  him, 
and,  if  you  see  him  about  going  astray,  to  lead  him 
kindly  back  into  the  right  path.  Never — oh !  never 
encourage  him  to  drink ;  but  rather  take  the  glass  from 
his  hand,  if  his  own  appetite  lead  him  aside,  and  by  all 
the  persuasive  influence  you  possess,  induce  him  to  go 
out  from  the  place  of  temptation. 

"  Pardon  my  boldness  in  saying  so  much,"  added  Mrs. 
Slade,  recollecting  herself,  and  colouring  deeply  as  she 
did  so.  "My  feelings  have  led  me  away." 


104  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

And  she  took  the  money  from  the  table  where  it  had 
been  placed,  and  retired  toward  the  door. 

"You  have  spoken  well,  madam,"  was  answered. 
"  And  we  thank  you  for  reminding  us  of  our  duty." 

"  One  word  more — and  forgive  the  earnest  heart  from 
which  it  comes" — said  Mrs.  Slade,  in  a  voice  that  trem 
bled  on  the  words  she  uttered.  "  I  cannot  help  speak 
ing,  gentlemen !  Think  if  some  of  you  be  not  entering 
the  road  wherein  Joe  Morgan  has  so  long  been  walking. 
Save  him,  in  heaven's  name ! — but  see  that  ye  do  not 
yourselves  become  cast-aways !" 

As  she  said  this,  she  glided  through  the  door,  and  it 
closed  after  her. 

"  I  don't  know  what  her  husband  would  say  to  that," 
was  remarked  after  a  few  moments  of  surprised  silence. 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  would  say ;  but  I'll  tell  you 
what  Twill  say,"  spoke  out  a  man  whom  I  had  several 
times  noticed  as  rather  a  free  tippler.  "  The  old  lady 
has  given  us  capital  advice,  and  I  mean  to  take  it,  for 
one.  I'm  going  to  try  to  save  Joe  Morgan,  and — my 
self  too.  I've  already  entered  the  road  she  referred  to ; 
but  I'm  going  to  turn  back.  So  good-night  to  you  all ; 
and  if  Simon  Slade  gets  no  more  of  my  sixpences,  he 
may  thank  his  wife  for  it — God  bless  her !" 

And  the  man  drew  his  hat  with  a  jerk  over  his  fore 
head,  and  left  immediately. 

This  seemed  the  signal  for  dispersion,  and  all  retired 
— not  by  way  of  the  bar-room,  but  out  into  the  hall,  and 


NIGHT   THE   FOURTH.  105 

through  the  door  leading  upon  the  porch  that  ran  along 
in  front  of  the  house.  Soon  after  the  bar  was  closed, 
and  a  dead  silence  reigned  throughout  the  house.  I  saw 
no  more  of  Slade  that  night.  Early  in  the  morning,  I 
left  Cedarville;  the  landlord  looked  very  sober  when 
he  bade  me  good-by  through  the  stage-door,  and  wished 
me  a  pleasant  journey. 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH. 

of.  %  Conseqttjettteg  of 


NEARLY  five  years  glided  away  before  business  again 
called  me  to  Cedarville.  I  knew  little  of  what  passed 
there  in  the  interval,  except  that  Simon  Slade  had  actu 
ally  'been  indicted  for  manslaughter,  in  causing  the 
death  of  Morgan's  child.  He  did  not  stand  a  trial,  how 
ever,  Judge  Lyman  having  used  his  influence,  success 
fully,  in  getting  the  indictment  quashed.  The  judge, 
some  people  said,  interested  himself  in  Slade  more  than 
was  just  seemly  —  especially,  as  he  had,  on  several  occa 
sions,  in  the  discharge  of  his  official  duties,  displayed 
what  seemed  an  over-righteous  indignation  against  indi 
viduals  arraigned  for  petty  offences.  The  impression 
made  upon  me  by  Judge  Lyman  had  not  been  favour 
able.  He  seemed  a  cold,  selfish,  scheming  man  of  the 
world.  That  he  was  an  unscrupulous  politician,  was  plain 
to  me,  in  a  single  evening's  observation  of  his  sayings 
and  doings  among  the  common  herd  of  a  village  bar 
room'. 

As  the  stage  rolled,  with  a  gay  flourish  of  our  driver's 
bugle,  into  the  village,  I  noted  here  and  there  familiar 

objects,   and  marked  the  varied  evidences  of  change. 
106 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  107 

Our  way  was  past  the  elegant  residence  and  grounds  of 
Judge  Hammond,  the  most  beautiful  and  highly  culti 
vated  in  Cedarville.  At  least,  such  it  was  regarded  at 
the  time  of  my  previous  visit.  But,  the  moment  my 
eyes  rested  upon  the  dwelling  and  its  varied  surround 
ings,  I  perceived  an  altered  aspect.  Was  it  the  simple 
work  of  time  ?  or,  had  familiarity  with  other  and  more 
elegantly  arranged  suburban  homes,  marred  this  in  my 
eyes  by  involuntary  contrast  ?  Or  had  the  hand  of  cul 
tivation  really  been  stayed,  and  the  marring  fingers  of 
neglect  suffered  undisturbed  to  trace  on  every  thing  dis 
figuring  characters  ? 

Such  questions  were  in  my  thoughts,  when  I  saw  a 
man  in  the  large  portico  of  the  dwelling,  the  ample 
columns  of  which,  capped  in  rich  Corinthian,  gave  the 
edifice  the  aspect  of  a  Grecian  temple.  He  stood  lean 
ing  against  one  of  the  columns — his  hat  off,  and  his 
long  gray  hair  thrown  back  and  resting  lightly  on  his 
neck  and  shoulders.  His  head  was  bent  down  upon  his 
breast,  and  he  seemed  in  deep  abstraction.  Just  as  the 
coach  swept  by,  he  looked  up,  and  in  the  changed  fea 
tures  I  recognised  Judge  Hammond.  His  complexion 
was  still  florid,  but  his  face  had  grown  thin,  and  his  eyes 
were  sunken.  Trouble  was  written  in  every  lineament. 
Trouble  ?  How  inadequately  does  the  word  express  my 
meaning !  Ah !  at  a  single  glance,  what  a  volume  of 
suffering  was  opened  to  the  gazer's  eye.  Not  lightly 
had  the  foot  of  time  rested  there,  as  if  treading  on 


108  TEN  NIGHTS   IN  A   BAR-KOOM. 

odorous  flowers,  but  heavily,  and  with  iron-shod  heel. 
This  I  saw  at  a  glance  ;  and  then,  only  the  image  of  the 
man  was  present  to  my  inner  vision,  for  the  swiftly  roll 
ing  stage-coach  had  borne  me  onward  past  the  altered 
home  of  the  wealthiest  denizen  of  Cedar ville.  In  a  few 
minutes  our  driver  reined  up  before  the  "  Sickle  and 
Sheaf,"  and  as  I  stepped  to  the  ground,  a  rotund,  coarse, 
red-faced  man,  whom  I  failed  to  recognise  as  Simon 
Slade  until  he  spoke,  grasped  my  hand,  and  pronounced 
my  name.  I  could  not  but  contrast,  in  thought,  his  ap 
pearance  with  what  it  was  when  I  first  saw  him,  some 
six  years  previously ;  nor  help  saying  to  myself — 

"  So  much  for  tavern-keeping  !" 

As  marked  a  change  was  visible  everywhere  in  and 
around  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf."  It,  too,  had  grown 
larger  by  additions  of  wings  and  rooms ;  but  it  had  also 
grown  coarser  in  growing  larger.  When  built,  all  the 
doors  were  painted  white,  and  the  shutters  green,  giving 
to  the  house  a  neat,  even  tasteful  appearance.  But  the 
white  and  green  had  given  place  to  a  dark,  dirty  brown, 
that  to  my  eyes  was  particularly  unattractive.  The  bar 
room  had  been  extended,  and  now  a  polished  brass  rod, 
or  railing,  embellished  the  counter,  and  sundry  orna 
mental  attractions  had  been  given  to  the  shelving  behind 
the  bar — such  as  mirrors,  gilding,  etc.  Pictures,  too, 
were  hung  upon  the  walls,  or  more  accurately  speaking, 
coarse  coloured  lithographs,  the  subjects  of  which,  if  not 
really  obscene,  were  flashing,  or  vulgar.  In  the  sitting- 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  109 

room,  next  to  the  bar,  I  noticed  little  change  of  objects, 
but  much  in  their  condition.  The  carpet,  chairs,  and 
tables  were  the  same  in  fact,  but  far  from  being  the 
same  in  appearance.  The  room  had  a  close,  greasy 
odour,  and  looked  as  if  it  had  not  been  thoroughly  swept 
and  dusted  for  a  week. 

A  smart  young  Irishman  was  in  the  bar,  and  handed 
me  the  book  in  which  passenger's  names  were  registered. 
After  I  had  recorded  mine,  he  directed  my  trunk  to  be 
carried  to  the  room  designated  as  the  one  I  was  to  oc 
cupy.  I  followed  the  porter,  who  conducted  me  to  the 
chamber  which  had  been  mine  at  previous  visits.  Here, 
too,  were  evidences  of  change ;  but  not  for  the  better. 
Then  the  room  was  as  sweet  and  clean  as  it  could  be ; 
the  sheets  and  pillow-cases  as  white  as  snow,  and  the 
furniture  shining  with  polish.  Now  all  was  dusty  and 
dingy,  the  air  foul,  and  the  bed  linen  scarcely  whiter 
than  tow.  No  curtain  made  softer  the  light  as  it  came 
through  the  window ;  nor  would  the  shutters  entirely  keep 
out  the  glare,  for  several  of  the  slats  were  broken.  A 
feeling  of  disgust  came  over  me,  at  the  close  smell  and 
foul  appearance  of  every  thing  ;  so,  after  washing  my 
hands  and  face,  and  brushing  the  dust  from  my  clothes, 
I  went  down-stairs.  The  sitting-room  was  scarcely  more 
attractive  than  my  chamber;  so  I  went  out  upon  the 
porch  and  took  a  chair.  Several  loungers  were  here; 
hearty,  strong-looking,  but  lazy  fellows,  who,  if  they  had 
any  thing  to  do,  liked  idling  better  than  working.  One 

10 


110  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

of  them  had  leaned  his  chair  back  against  the  wall  of 
.the  house,  and  was  swinging  his  legs  with  a  half  circular 
motion,  and  humming  "  Old  Folks  at  Home."  Another 
sat  astride  of  his  chair,  with  his  face  turned  toward, 
and  his  chin  resting  upon,  the  back.  He  was  in  too  lazy 
a  condition  of  body  and  mind  for  motion  or  singing.  A 
third  had  slidden  down  in  his  chair,  until  he  sat  on  his 
back,  while  his  feet  were  elevated  above  his  head,  and 
resting  against  one  of  the  pillars  that  supported  the 
porch;  while  a  fourth  lay  stretched  out  on  a  bench, 
sleeping,  his  hat  over  his  face  to  protect  him  from  buzz 
ing  and  biting  flies. 

Though  all  but  the  sleeping  man  eyed  me,  inquisi 
tively,  as  I  took  my  place  among  them,  not  one  changed 
his  position.  The  rolling  of  eyeballs  cost  but  little  ex 
ertion  ;  and  with  that  effort  they  were  contented. 

"  Hallo  !  who's  that  ?"  one  of  these  loungers  suddenly 
exclaimed,  as  a  man  went  swiftly  by  in  a  light  sulky ; 
and  he  started  up,  and  gazed  down  the  road,  seeking  to 
penetrate  the  cloud  of  dust  which  the  fleet  rider  had 
swept  up  with  hoofs  and  wheels. 

"  I  didn't  see."  The  sleeping  man  aroused  himself, 
rubbed  his  eyes,  and  gazed  along  the  road. 

"  Who  was  it,  Matthew  ?"  The  Irish  bar-keeper  now 
stood  in  the  door. 

"Willy  Hammond,"  was  answered  by  Matthew. 

"  Indeed !  Is  that  his  new  three  hundred  dollar 
horse  ?" 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  Ill 

"Yes." 

"  My  !  but  he's  a  screamer !" 

"  Isn't  he !     Most  as  fast  as  his  young  master." 

"  Hardly,"  said  one  of  the  men,  laughing.  "  I  don't 
think  any  thing  in  creation  can  beat  Hammond.  He 
goes  it,  with  a  perfect  rush." 

"  Doesn't  he !  Well ;  you  may  say  what  you  please 
of  him,  he's  as  good-hearted  a  fellow  as  ever  walked ; 
and  generous  to  a  fault." 

"His  old  dad  will  agree  with  you  in  the  last  re 
mark,"  said  Matthew. 

"  No  doubt  of  that,  for  he  has  to  stand  the  bills,"  was 
answered. 

"  Yes,  whether  he  will  or  no,  for  I  rather  think  Willy 
has,  somehow  or  other,  got  the  upper  hand  of  him." 

"In  what  way?" 

"  It's  Hammond  and  Son,  over  at  the  mill  and  dis 
tillery." 

"  I  know ;  but  what  of  that?" 

"  Willy  was  made  the  business  man — ostensibly — in 
order,  as  the  old  man  thought,  to  get  him  to  feel  the 
responsibility  of  the  new  position,  and  thus  tome  him 
down." 

"  Tame  Mm  down  !  Oh,  dear !  It  will  take  more 
than  business  to  do  that.  The  curb  was  applied  too 
late." 

"  As  the  old  gentleman  has  already  discovered,  I'm 
thinking,  to  his  sorrow." 


112  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  He  never  comes  here  any  more;  does  lie,  Matthew?" 

"Who?" 

"Judge  Hammond." 

"  Oh,  dear,  no.  He  and  Slade  had  all  sorts  of  a 
quarrel  about  a  year  ago,  and  he's  never  darkened  our 
doors  since." 

"It  was  something  about  Willy  and ."  The 

speaker  did  not  mention  any  name,  but  winked  know 
ingly  and  tossed  his  head  toward  the  entrance  of  the 
house,  to  indicate  some  member  of  Slade's  family. 

"I  believe  so." 

"D'ye  think  Willy  really  likes  her?" 

Matthew  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  made  no  answer. 

"She's  a  nice  girl,"  was  remarked  in  an  under  tone, 
"and  good  enough  for  Hammond's  son  any  day; 
though,  if  she  were  my  daughter,  I'd  rather  see  her  in 
Jericho  than  fond  of  his  company." 

"  He'll  have  plenty  of  money  to  give  her.  She  can 
live  like  a  queen." 

"  For  how  long  ?" 

"  Hush  !"  came  from  the  lips  of  Matthew.  "  There 
she  is  now." 

I  looked  up  and  saw,  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
house,  and  approaching,  a  young  lady,  in  whose  sweet, 
modest  face,  I  at  once  recognised  Flora  Slade.  Five 
years  had  developed  her  into  beautiful  woman.  In 
her  alone,  of  all  that  appertained  to  Simon  Slade,  there 
was  no  deterioration.  Her  eyes  were  as  mild  and  pure 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  113 

as  when  first  I  met  her  at  gentle  sixteen,  and  her  father 
said  "  My  daughter,"  with  such  a  mingling  of  pride  and 
affection  in  his  tone.  She  passed  near  where  I  was  sit 
ting,  and  entered  the  house.  A  closer  view  showed  me 
some  marks  of  thought  and  suffering ;  but  they  only 
heightened  the  attractions  of  her  face.  I  failed  not  to 
observe  the  air  of  respect  with  which  all  returned  her 
slight  nod  and  smile  of  recognition. 

"  She's  a  nice  girl,  and  no  mistake — the  flower  of  this 
flock,"  was  said,  as  soon  as  she  passed  into  the  house. 

"  Too  good  for  Willy  Hammond,  in  my  opinion,"  said 
Matthew.  "  Clever  and  generous  as  people  call  him." 

"Just  my  opinion,"  was  responded.  "  She's  as  pure 
and  good,  almost,  as  an  angel ;  and  he  ? — I  can  tell  you 
what — he's  not  the  clear  thing.  He  knows  a  little  too 
much  of  the  world — on  its  bad  side,  I  mean." 

The  appearance  of  Slade  put  an  end  to  this  conversa 
tion.  A  second  observation  of  his  person  and  counte 
nance  did  not  remove  the  first  unfavourable  impression. 
His  face  had  grown  decidedly  bad  in  expression,  as  well 
as  gross  and  sensual.  The  odour  of  his  breath,  as  he 
took  a  chair  close  to  where  I  was  sitting,  was  that  of  one 
who  drank  habitually  and  freely;  and  the  red,  swim 
ming  eyes  evidenced,  too  surely,  a  rapid  progress,  toward 
the  sad  condition  of  a  confirmed  inebriate.  There  was, 
too,  a  certain  thickness  of  speech,  that  gave  another 
corroborating  sign  of  evil  progress. 

"  Have  you  seen  any  thing  of  Frank  this  afternoon  ?" 

10* 


114  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

he  inquired  of  Matthew,  after  we  had  passed  a  few 
words. 

"Nothing,"  was  the  bar-keeper's  answer. 

"  I  saw  him  with  Tom  Wilkins  as  I  came  over,"  said 
one  of  the  men  who  was  sitting  in  the  porch. 

"What  was  he  doing  with  Tom  Wilkins  ?"  said  Slade, 
in  a  fretted  tone  of  voice.  "He  doesn't  seem  very 
choice  of  his  company." 

"  They  were  gunning." 

"Gunning!" 

"Yes.  They  both  had  fowling-pieces.  I  wasn't 
near  enough  to  ask  where  they  were  going." 

This  information  disturbed  Slade  a  good  deal.  After 
muttering  to  himself  for  a  little  while,  he  started  up  and 
went  into  the  house. 

"And  I  could  have  told  him  a  little  more,  had  I  been 
so  inclined,"  said  the  individual  who  mentioned  the  fact 
that  Frank  was  with  Tom  Wilkins. 

"  What  more?"  inquired  Matthew. 

"  There  was  a  buggy  in  the  case ;  and  a  champagne 
basket.  What  the  latter  contained  you  can  easily  guess." 

"Whose  buggy?" 

"  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  the  buggy ;  but  if 
'  Lightfoot'  doesn't  sink  in  value  a  hundred  dollars  or  so 
before  sundown,  call  me  a  false  prophet." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Matthew,  incredulously.  "Frank 
wouldn't  do  an  outrageous  thing  like  that.  Lightfoot 
won't  be  in  a  condition  to  drive  for  a  month  to  come." 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  115 

"  I  don't  care.  She's  out  now ;  and  the  way  she  was 
putting  it  down  when  I  saw  her,  would  have  made  a  loco 
motive  look  cloudy." 

"Where  did  he  get  her?"  was  inquired. 

"  She's  been  in  the  six-acre  field,  over  by  Mason's 
Bridge,  for  the  last  week  or  so,"  Matthew  answered. 
"  Well ;  all  I  have  to  say,"  he  added,  "  is  that  Frank  ought 
to  be  slung  up  and  well  horsewhipped.  I  never  saw  such 
a  young  rascal.  He  cares  for  no  good,  and  fears  no 
evil.  He's  the  worst  boy  I  ever  saw." 

"  It  would  hardly  do  for  you  to  call  him  a  boy  to  his 
face,"  said  one  of  the  men,  laughing. 

"I  don't  have  much  to  say  to  him  in  any  way,"  re 
plied  Matthew,  "  for  I  know  very  well,  that  if  we  ever 
do  get  into  a  regular  quarrel,  there'll  be  a  hard  time  of 
it.  The  same  house  will  not  hold  us  afterward — that's 
certain.  So  I  steer  clear  of  the  young  reprobate." 

"  I  wonder  his  father  don't  put  him  to  some  business," 
was  remarked.  "  The  idle  life  he  now  leads  will  be 
his  ruin." 

"He  was  behind  the  bar  for  a  year  or  two." 

"Yes  ;  and  was  smart  at  mixing  a  glass — but " 

"  Was  himself  becoming  too  good  a  customer  ?" 

"  Precisely.  He  got  drunk  as  a  fool  before  reaching 
his  fifteenth  year." 

"Good  gracious!"  I  exclaimed,  involuntarily. 

"  It's  true,  sir,"  said  the  last  speaker,  turning  to  me. 
"  I  never  saw  any  thing  like  it.  And  this  wasn't  all. 


116  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

Bar-room  talk,  as  you  maybe  know,  isn't  the  most  re 
fined  and  virtuous  in  the  world.  I  wouldn't  like  my  son 
to  hear  much  of  it.  Frank  was  always  an  eager  listener 
to  every  thing  that  was  said,  and  in  a  very  short  time 
became  an  adept  in  slang  and  profanity.  I'm  no  saint 
myself;  but  it's  often  made  my  blood  run  cold  to  hear 
him  swear." 

"I  pity  his  mother,"  said  I;  for  my  thought  turned 
naturally  to  Mrs.  Slade. 

"  You  may  well  do  that,"  was  answered.  "  I  doubt 
if  Cedarville  holds  a  sadder  heart.  It  was  a  dark  day 
for  her,  let  me  tell  you,  when  Simon  Slade  sold  his  mill 
and  built  this  tavern.  She  was  opposed  to  it  in  the 
beginning." 

"I  have  inferred  as  much." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  man.  "  My  wife  has  been  in 
timate  with  her  for  years.  Indeed,  they  have  always 
been  like  sisters.  I  remember  very  well  her  coming  to 
our  house,  about  the  time  the  mill  was  sold,  and  crying 
about  it  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  She  saw  nothing 
but  trouble  and  sorrow  ahead.  Tavern-keeping  she  had 
always  regarded  as  a  low  business ;  and  the  change  from 
a  respectable  miller  to  a  lazy  tavern-keeper,  as  she  ex 
pressed  it,  was  presented  to  her  mind  as  something  dis 
graceful.  I  remember,  very  well,  trying  to  argue  the 
point  with  her — assuming  that  it  was  quite  as  respectable 
to  keep  tavern  as  to  do  any  thing  else  ;  but  I  might  as 
well  have  talked  to  the  wind.  She  was  always  a  pleasant, 


NIGHT   THE  FIFTH.  117 

hopeful,  cheerful  woman  before  that  time;  but,  really, 
I  don't  think  I've  seen  a  true  smile  on  her  face  since." 

"  That  was  a  great  deal  for  a  man  to  lose,"  said  I. 

"  What  ?"  he  inquired,  not  clearly  understanding  me. 

"  The  cheerful  face  of  his  wife." 

"  The  face  was  but  an  index  of  her  heart,"  said  he. 

"  So  much  the  worse." 

"  True  enough  for  that.  Yes,  it  was  a  great  deal  to 
lose." 

"  What  has  he  gained  that  will  make  up  for  this  ?" 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"What  has  he  gained?"  I  repeated.  "  Can  you 
figure  it  up  ?" 

"  He's  a  richer  man,  for  one  thing." 

"Happier?" 

There  was  another  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "  I 
wouldn't  like  to  say  that." 

"  How  much  richer?" 

"  Oh,  a  great  deal.  Somebody  was  saying,  only  yes 
terday,  that  he  couldn't  be  worth  less  than  thirty  thou 
sand  dollars." 

"Indeed?    So  much." 

"  Yes." 

"How  has  he  managed  to  accumulate  so  rapidly?" 

"  His  bar  has  a  large  run  of  custom.  And,  you  know, 
that  pays  wonderfully." 

"  He  must  have  sold  a  great  deal  of  liquor  in  six 
years." 


118  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

"  And  he  has.  I  don't  think  I'm  wrong  in  saying, 
that  in  the  six  years  which  have  gone  by  since  the 
*  Sickle  and  Sheaf  was  opened,  more  liquor  has  been 
drank  than  in  the  previous  twenty  years." 

"  Say  forty,"  remarked  a  man  who  had  been  a  list 
ener  to  what  we  said. 

"  Let  it  be  forty  then,"  was  the  according  answer. 

"  How  comes  this  ?"  I  inquired.  "You  had  a  tavern 
here  before  the  Sickle  and  Sheaf  was  opened." 

"  I  know  we  had,  and  several  places  besides  where 
liquor  was  sold.  But,  everybody  far  and  near  knew 
Simon  Slade  the  miller,  and  everybody  liked  him.  He 
was  a  good  miller,  and  a  cheerful,  social,  chatty  sort  of 
a  man,  putting  everybody  in  a  good  humour  who  came 
near  him.  So  it  became  the  talk  everywhere,  when  he 
built  this  house,  which  he  fitted  up  nicer  than  any  thing 
that  had  been  seen  in  these  parts.  Judge  Hammond, 
Judge  Lyman,  Lawyer  Wilson,  and  all  the  big-bugs  of 
the  place  at  once  patronised  the  new  tavern ;  and,  of 
course,  everybody  else  did  the  same.  So,  you  can 
easily  see  how  he  got  such  a  run." 

"  It  was  thought  in  the  beginning,"  said  I,  "that  the 
new  tavern  was  going  to  do  wonders  for  Cedar ville." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  man  laughing,  "and  so  it  has." 

"In  what  respect?" 

"  Oh,  in  many.  It  has  made  some  men  richer,  and 
some  poorer." 

"  Who  has  it  made  poorer?" 


NIGHT   THE    FIFTH.  119 

"Dozens  of  people.  You  may  always  take  it  for 
granted,  when  you  see  a  tavern-keeper,  who  has  a 
good  run  at  his  bar,  getting  rich,  that  a  great  many 
people  are  getting  poor." 

"  How  so  ?"  I  wished  to  hear  in  what  way  the  man, 
who  was  himself,  as  was  plain  to  see,  a  good  customer 
at  somebody's  bar,  reasoned  on  the  subject. 

"  He  does  not  add  to  the  general  wealth.  He  pro 
duces  nothing.  He  takes  money  from  his  customers, 
but  gives  them  no  article  of  value  in  return — nothing 
that  can  be  called  property,  personal  or  real.  He  is 
just  so  much  richer  and  they  just  so  much  poorer  for  the 
exchange.  Is  it  not  so?" 

I  readily  assented  to  the  position  as  true,  and  then 
said — 

"Who,  in  particular,  is  poorer?" 

"  Judge  Hammond,  for  one." 

"  Indeed !  I  thought  the  advance  in  his  property,  in 
consequence  of  the  building  of  this  tavern,  was  so  great, 
that  he  was  reaping  a  rich  pecuniary  harvest." 

"  There  was  a  slight  advance  in  property  along  the 
street  after  the  Sickle  and  Sheaf  was  opened,  and  Judge 
Hammond  was  benefited  thereby.  Interested  parties 
made  a  good  deal  of  noise  about  it;  but  it  didn't  amount 
to  much,  I  believe." 

"What  has  caused  the  judge  to  grow  poorer?" 

"  The  opening  of  this  tavern,  as  I  just  said." 

"In  what  way  did  it  affect  him  ?" 


120  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  He  was  among  Slade's  warmest  supporters,  as  soon 
as  he  felt  the  advance  in  the  price  of  building  lots ; 
called  him  one  of  the  most  enterprising  men  in  Cedar- 
ville — a  real  benefactor  to  the  place — and  all  that  stuff. 
To  set  a  good  example  of  patronage,  he  came  over  every 
day  and  took  his  glass  of  brandy,  and  encouraged  every- 
body  else  that  he  could  influence  to  do  the  same.  Among 
those  who  followed  his  example  was  his  son  Willy. 
There  was  not,  let  me  tell  you,  in  all  the  country  for 
twenty  miles  around,  a  finer  young  man  than  Willy,  nor 
one  of  so  much  promise,  when  this  man-trap" — he  let 
his  voice  fall,  and  glanced  around,  as  he  thus  designated 
Slade's  tavern — "was  opened;  and  now,  there  is  not 
one  dashing  more  recklessly  along  the  road  to  ruin. 
When  too  late,  his  father  saw  that  his  son  was  corrupted, 
and  that  the  company  he  kept  was  of  a  dangerous 
character.  Two  reasons  led  him  to  purchase  Slade's 
old  mill,  and  turn  it  into  a  factory  and  a  distillery.  Of 
course,  he  had  to  make  a  heavy  outlay  for  additional 
buildings,  machinery,  and  distilling  apparatus.  The 
reasons  influencing  him  were  the  prospect  of  realizing  a 
large  amount  of  money,  especially  in  distilling,  and  the 
hope  of  saving  Willy,  by  getting  him  closely  engaged 
and  interested  in  business.  To  accomplish,  more  cer 
tainly,  the  latter  end,  he  unwisely  transferred  to  his 
son,  as  his  own  capital,  twenty  thousand  dollars,  and 
then  formed  with  him  a  regular  copartnership — giving 
Willy  an  active  business  control. 


NIGHT   THE    FIFTH.  121 

"But  the  experiment,  sir,"  added  the  man,  emphati 
cally,  "  has  proved  a  failure.  I  heard  yesterdy,  that 
both  mill  and  distillery  were  to  be  shut  up,  and  offered 
for  sale." 

"  They  did  not  prove  as  money-making  as  was  anti 
cipated  ?" 

"  No,  not  under  Willy  Hammond's  management.  He 
had  made  too  many  bad  acquaintances — men  who  clung 
to  him  because  he  had  plenty  of  money  at  his  command, 
and  spent  it  as  freely  as  water.  One  half  of  his  time 
he  was  away  from  the  mill,  and  while  there,  didn't  half 
attend  to  business.  I've  heard  it  said — and  I  don't 
much  doubt  its  truth — that  he's  squandered  his  twenty 
thousand  dollars,  and  a  great  deal  more  besides." 

"  How  is  that  possible  ?" 

"Well;  people  talk,  and  not  always  at  random. 
There's  been  a  man  staying  here,  most  of  his  time,  for 
the  last  four  or  five  years,  named  Green.  He  does  not 
do  any  thing,  and  don't  seem  to  have  any  friends  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Nobody  knows  where  he  came  from, 
and  he  is  not  at  all  communicative  on  that  head  himself. 
Well,  this  man  became  acquainted  with  young  Ham 
mond  after  Willy  got  to  visiting  the  bar  here,  and  at 
tached  himself  to  him  at  once.  They  have,  to  all  ap 
pearance,  been  fast  friends  ever  since ;  riding  about,  or 
going  off  on  gunning  or  fishing  excursions  almost  every 
day,  and  secluding  themselves  somewhere  nearly  every 

evening.     That  man,  Green,  sir,  it  is  whispered,  is  a 

ii 


122  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

gambler;  and  I  believe  it.  Granted,  and  there  is  no 
longer  a  mystery  as  to  what  Willy  does  with  his  own 
and  his  father's  money." 

I  readily  assented  to  this  view  of  the  case. 

"And so  assuming  that  Green  is  a  gambler,"  said  I, 
"he  has  grown  richer,  in  consequence  of  the  opening 
of  a  new  and  more  attractive  tavern  in  Cedurville." 

"Yes,  and  Cedarville  is  so  much  the  poorer  for  all 
his  gains ;  for  I've  never  heard  of  his  buying  a  foot  of 
ground,  or  in  any  way  encouraging  productive  industry. 
He's  only  a  blood-sucker." 

"It  is  worse  than  the  mere  abstraction  of  money," 
I  remarked ;  "  he  corrupts  his  victims,  at  the  same  time 
that  he  robs  them." 

"  True." 

"Willy  Hammond  may  not  be  his  only  victim,"  I 
suggested. 

"  Nor  is  he,  in  my  opinion.  I've  been  coming  to  this 
bar,  nightly,  for  a  good  many  years — a  sorry  confession 
for  a  man  to  make,  I  must  own,"  he  added,  with  a  slight 
tinge  of  shame ;  "  but  so  it  is.  Well,  as  I  was  saying, 
I've  been  coming  to  this  bar,  nightly,  for  a  good  many 
years,  and  I  generally  see  all  that  is  going  on  around 
me.  Among  the  regular  visitors  are  at  least  half  a 
dozen  young  men,  belonging  to  our  best  families — who 
have  been  raised  with  care,  and  well  educated.  That 
their  presence  here  is  unknown  to  their  friends,  I  am 
quite  certain — or,  at  least,  unknown  and  unsuspected  by 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  123 

some  of  them.  They  do  not  drink  a  great  deal  yet ; 
but  all  try  a  glass  or  two.  Toward  nine  o'clock,  often 
at  an  earlier  hour,  you  will  see  one  and  another  of  them 
go  quietly  out  of  the  bar,  through  the  sitting-room, 
preceded,  or  soon  followed,  by  Green  and  Slade.  At 
any  hour  of  the  night,  up  to  one  or  two,  and  sometimes 
three  o'clock,  you  can  see  light  streaming  through  the 
rent  in  a  curtain  drawn  before  a  particular  window, 
which  I  know  to  be  in  the  room  of  Harvey  Green. 
These  are  facts,  sir ;  and  you  can  draw  your  own  con 
clusion.  I  think  it  a  very  serious  matter/' 

"  Why  does  Slade  go  out  with  these  young  men  ?"  I 
inquired.  "  Do  you  think  he  gambles,  also  ?" 

"  If  he  isn't  a  kind  of  a  stool-pigeon  for  Harvey  Green, 
then  I'm  mistaken  again." 

"  Hardly.  He  cannot,  already,  have  become  so  utter 
ly  unprincipled." 

"  It's  a  bad  school,  sir,  this  tavern-keeping,"  said  the 
man. 

"I  readily  grant  you  that." 

"  And  it's  nearly  seven  years  since  he  commenced  to 
take  lessons.  A  great  deal  may  be  learned,  sir,  of  good 
or  evil,  in  seven  years,  especially  if  any  interest  be 
taken  in  the  studies." 

"  True." 

"  And  it's  true  in  this  case,  you  may  depend  upon  it. 
Simon  Slade  is  not  the  man  he  was,  seven  years  ago. 
Anybody  with  half  an  eye  can  see  that.  He's  grown 


124  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

selfish,  grasping,  unscrupulous,  and  passionate.  There 
could  hardly  be  a  greater  difference  between  men  than 
exists  between  Simon  Slade  the  tavern-keeper,  and 
Simon  Slade  the  miller." 

"And  intemperate,  also?"  I  suggested. 

"He's  beginning  to  take  a  little  too  much,"  was  an 
swered. 

"  In  that  case,  he'll  scarcely  be  as  well  off  five  years 
hence  as  he  is  now." 

"  He's  at  the  top  of  the  wheel,  some  of  us  think." 

"What  has  led  to  this  opinion?" 

"  He's  beginning  to  neglect  his  house,  for  one  thing." 

"A  bad  sign." 

"And  there  is  another  sign.  Heretofore,  he  has 
always  been  on  hand,  with  the  cash,  when  desirable  pro 
perty  went  off,  under  forced  sale,  at  a  bargain.  In  the 
last  three  or  four  months,  several  great  sacrifices  have 
been  made,  but  Simon  Slade  showed  no  inclination  to 
buy.  Put  this  fact  against  another, — week  before  last, 
he  sold  a  house  and  lot  in  the  town  for  five  hundred  dol 
lars  less  than  he  paid  for  them,  a  year  ago — and  for  just 
that  sum  less  than  their  true  value." 

"  How  came  that  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  Ah  !  there's  the  question !  He  wanted  money , 
though  for  what  purpose,  he  has  not  intimated  to  any 
one,  as  far  as  I  can  learn." 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"  Just  this.     He  and  Green  have  been  hunting  to- 

o 


NIGHT   TI1E   FIFTH.  125 

gether  in  times  past;  but  the  professed  gambler's  in 
stincts  are  too  strong  to  let  him  spare  even  his  friend  in 
evil.  They  have  commenced  playing  one  against  the 
other." 

"Ah!  you  think  so?" 

"  I  do;  and  if  I  conjecture  rightly,  Simon  Slade  will  be 
a  poorer  man,  in  a  year  from  this  time,  than  he  is  now." 

Here  our  conversation  was  interrupted.  Some  one 
asked  my  talkative  friend  to  go  and  take  a  drink,  and  he, 
nothing  loath,  left  me  without  ceremony. 

Very  differently  served  was  the  supper  I  partook  of 
on  that  evening,  from  the  one  set  before  me  on  the  occa 
sion  of  my  first  visit  to  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf."  The 
table-cloth  was  not  merely  soiled,  but  offensively  dirty ; 
the  plates,  cups,  and  saucers,  dingy  and  sticky;  the 
knives  and  forks  unpolished;  and  the  food  of  a  cha 
racter  to  satisfy  the  appetite  with  a  very  few  mouthfuls. 
Two  greasy-looking  Irish  girls  waited  on  the  table,  at 
which  neither  landlord  nor  landlady  presided.  I  was 
really  hungry  when  the  supper-bell  rang ;  but  the  crav 
ing  of  my  stomach  soon  ceased  in  the  atmosphere  of  the 
dining-room,  and  I  was  the  first  to  leave  the  table. 

Soon  after  the  lamps  were  lighted,  company  began 
to  assembly  in  the  spacious  bar-room,  where  were  com 
fortable  seats,  with  tables,  newspapers,  backgammon 
boards,  dominoes,  etc.  The  first  act  of  nearly  every 
one  who  came  in,  was  to  call  for  a  glass  of  liquor ;  and 

sometimes  the  same  individual  drank  two  or  three  times 

ii* 


126  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

in  the  course  of  half  an  hour,  on  the  invitation  of  new 
comers  who  were  convivially  inclined. 

Most  of  those  who  came  in  were  strangers  to  me.  I 
was  looking  from  face  to  face  to  see  if  any  of  the  old 
company  were  present,  when  one  countenance  struck  me 
as  familiar.  I  was  studying  it,  in  order,  if  possible,  to 
identify  the  person,  when  some  one  addressed  him  as 
"Judge." 

Changed  as  the  face  was,  I  now  recognised  it  as  that 
of  Judge  Lyman.  Five  years  had  marred  that  face 
terribly.  It  seemed  twice  the  former  size ;  and  all  its 
bright  expression  was  gone.  The  thickened  and  pro 
truding  eyelids  half  closed  the  leaden  eyes,  and  the 
swollen  lips  and  cheeks  gave  to  his  countenance  a  look 
of  all-predominating  sensuality.  True  manliness  had 
bowed  itself  in  debasing  submission  to  the  bestial.  He 
talked  loudly,  and  with  a  pompous  dogmatism — mainly 
on  political  subjects — but  talked  only  from  memory;  for 
any  one  could  see,  that  thought  came  into  but  feeble 
activity.  And  yet,  derationalized,  so  to  speak,  as  he 
was,  through  drink,  he  had  been  chosen  a  representa 
tive  in  Congress,  at  the  previous  election,  on  the  anti- 
temperance  ticket,  and  by  a  very  handsome  majority. 
He  was  the  rum  candidate ;  and  the  rum  interest,  aided 
by  the  easily  swayed  "  indifferents,"  swept  aside  the 
claims  of  law,  order,  temperance,  and  good  morals ;  and 
the  district  from  which  he  was  chosen  as  a  National 
Legislator  sent  him  up  to  the  National  Councils,  and 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  127 

said  in  the  act — "  Look  upon  him  we  have  chosen  as  our 
representative,  and  see  in  him  a  type  of  our  principles, 
our  quality,  and  our  condition  as  a  community." 

Judge  Lyman,  around  whom  a  little  circle  soon  ga 
thered,  was  very  severe  on  the  temperance  party,  which, 
for  two  years,  had  opposed  his  election,  and  which,  at 
the  last  struggle,  showed  itself  to  be  a  rapidly  growing 
organization.  During  the  canvass,  a  paper  was  published 
by  this  party,  in  which  his  personal  habits,  character, 
and  moral  principles  were  discussed  in  the  freest  man 
ner,  and  certainly  not  in  a  way  to  elevate  him  in  the 
estimation  of  men  whose  opinion  was  of  any  value. 

It  was  not  much  to  be  wondered  at,  that  he  assumed 
to  think  temperance  issues  at  the  polls  were  false  issues ; 
and  that  when  temperance  men  sought  to  tamper  with 
elections,  the  liberties  of  the  people  were  in  danger ; 
nor  that  he  prononnced  the  whole  body  of  temperance 
men  as  selfish  schemers  and  canting  hypocrites. 

"  The  next  thing  we  will  have,"  he  exclaimed,  warming 
with  his  theme,  and  speaking  so  loud  that  his  voice 
sounded  throughout  the  room,  and  arrested  every  one's 
attention,  "will  be  laws  to  fine  any  man  who  takes  a 
chew  of  tobacco  or  lights  a  cigar.  Touch  the  liberties 
of  the  people  in  the  smallest  particular,  and  all  gua 
rantees  are  gone.  The  Stamp  Act,  against  which  our 
noble  forefathers  rebelled,  was  a  light  measure  of  op 
pression  to  that  contemplated  by  these  worse  than 
fanatics." 


128  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAH-ROOM. 

"You  are  right  there,  judge;  right  for  once  in  your 
life,  if  you  (hie)  were  never  right  before !"  exclaimed  a 
battered  looking  specimen  of  humanity,  who  stood  near 
the  speaker,  slapping  Judge  Lyman  on  the  shoulder 
familiarly  as  he  spoke.  "  There's  no  telling  what  they 
will  do.  There's  (hie)  my  old  uncle  Josh  Wilson, 
who's  been  keeper  of  the  Poor-house  these  ten  years. 
Well,  they're  going  to  turn  him  out,  if  ever  they  get  the 
upper  hand  in  Bolton  county." 

"If?  That  word  involves  a  great  deal,  Harry?" 
said  Lyman.  "  We  mus'n't  let  them  get  the  upper  hand 
Every  man  has  a  duty  to  perform  to  his  country  in 
this  matter,  and  every  one  must  do  his  duty.  But  what 
have  they  got  against  your  Uncle  Joshua  ?  What  has 
he  been  doing  to  offend  this  righteous  party?" 

"  They've  nothing  against  him,  (hie)  I  believe.  Only, 
they  say,  they're  not  going  to  have  a  Poor-house  in  the 
county  at  all." 

"What!  Going  to  turn  the  poor  wretches  out  to 
starve?"  said  one. 

"  Oh  no  !  (hie),"  and  the  fellow  grinned,  half  shrewd 
ly  and  half  maliciously,  as  he  answered — "no,  not  that. 
But,  when  they  carry  the  day,  there'll  be  no  need  of 
Poor-houses.  At  least,  that's  their  talk — and  I  guess 
maybe  there's  something  in  it,  for  I  never  knew  a  man 
to  go  to  the  Poor-house,  who  hadn't  (hie)  rum  to  blame 
for  his  poverty.  But,  you  see,  I'm  interested  in  this 
matter.  I  go  for  keeping  up  the  Poor-house  (hie) ;  for 


NIGHT    THE   FIFTH.  129 

I  guess  I'm  travelling  that  road,  and  I  should'nt  like 
to  get  to  the  last  milestone  (hie)  and  find  no  snug 
quarters — no  Uncle  Josh.  You're  safe  for  one  vote,  any 
how,  old  chap,  on  next  election  day !"  And  the  man's 
broad  hand  slapped  the  member's  shoulder  again. 
"Huzza  for  the  rummies!  That's  (hie)  the  ticket! 
Harry  Grimes  never  deserts  his  friends.  True  as  steel." 

"You're  a  trump  !"  returned  Judge  Lyman,  with  low 
familiarity.  "Never  fear  about  the  Poor-house  and 
Uncle  Josh.  They're  all  safe." 

"But  look  here,  judge,"  resumed  the  man.  "It  isn't 
only  the  Poor-house,  the  jail  is  to  go  next." 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes,  that's  their  talk;  and  I  guess  they  ain't  far 
out  of  the  way  neither.  "What  takes  men  to  jail  ?  You 
can  tell  us  something  about  that,  judge,  for  you've  jug 
ged  a  good  many  in  your  time.  Didn't  pretty  much  all 
of  'em  drink  rum?  (hie.)" 

But  the  judge  answered  nothing. 

"  Silence  (hie)  gives  consent,"  resumed  Grimes. 
"  And  they  say  more ;  once  give  'em  the  upper  hand — 
and  they're  confident  of  beating  us — and  the  Court 
house  will  be  to  let.  As  for  judges  and  lawyers,  they'll 
starve,  or  go  into  some  better  business.  So  you  see, 
(hie)  judge,  your  liberties  are  in  danger.  But  fight 
hard,  old  fellow;  and  if  you  must  die,  (hie)  die  game !" 

How  well  judge  Lyman  relished  this  mode  of  pre 
senting  the  case,  was  not  very  apparent;  he  was  too 


130  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

good  a  politician  and  office-seeker,  to  show  any  feeling 
on  the  subject,  and  thus  endanger  a  vote.  Harry 
Grimes's  vote  counted  one,  and  a  single  vote,  sometimes, 
gained  or  lost  an  election. 

"  One  of  their  gags,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  But  I'm 
too  old  a  stager  not  to  see  the  flimsiness  of  such  preten 
sions.  Poverty  and  crime  have  their  origin  in  the  cor 
rupt  heart,  and  their  foundations  are  laid  long  and  long 
before  the  first  step  is  taken  on  the  road  to  inebriety. 
It  is  easy  to  promise  results ;  for  only  the  few  look  at 
causes,  and  trace  them  to  their  effects." 

"Rum  and  ruin,  (hie).  Are  they  not  cause  and 
effect  ?"  asked  Grimes. 

"  Sometimes  they  are,"  was  the  half  extorted  answer. 

"Oh,  Green!  is  that  you?"  exclaimed  the  judge,  as 
Harvey  Green  came  in  with  a  soft  cat-like  step.  He 
was,  evidently,  glad  of  a  chance  to  get  rid  of  his  fami 
liar  friend  and  elector. 

I  turned  my  eyes  upon  the  man,  and  read  his  face 
closely.  It  was  unchanged.  The  same  cold,  sinister 
eye;  the  same  chiselled  mouth,  so  firm  now,  and  now 
yielding  so  elastically ;  the  same  smile  "  from  the  teeth 
outward" — the  same  lines  that  revealed  his  heart's  deep, 
dark  selfishness.  If  he  had  indulged  in  drink  during 
the  five  intervening  years,  it  had  not  corrupted  his  blood, 
nor  added  thereto  a  single  degree  of  heat. 

"  Have  you  seen  any  thing  of  Hammond  this  even 
ing?"  asked  Judge  Lyman. 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  131 

"  I  saw  him  an  hour  or  two  ago,"  answered  Green. 

"  How  does  he  like  his  new  horse  ?" 

"  He's  delighted  with  him." 

"What  was  the  price?" 

"Three  hundred  dollars." 

"Indeed!" 

The  judge  had  already  arisen,  and  he  and  Green 
were  now  walking  side  by  side  across  the  bar-room  floor. 

"I  want  to  speak  a  word  with  you,"  I  heard  Lyman 
say. 

And  then  the  two  went  out  together.  I  saw  no  more 
of  them  during  the  evening. 

Not  long  afterward,  Willy  Hammond  came  in.  Ah ! 
there  was  a  sad  change  here ;  a  change  that  in  no  way 
belied  the  words  of  Matthew  the  bar-keeper.  He 
went  up  to  the  bar,  and  I  heard  him  ask  for  Judge  Ly 
man.  The  answer  was  in  so  low  a  voice,  that  it  did  not 
reach  my  ear. 

With  a  quick,  nervous  motion,  Hammond  threw  his 
hand  toward  a  row  of  decanters  on  the  shelf  behind  the 
bar-keeper,  who  immediately  set  one  of  them  containing 
brandy  before  him.  From  this  he  poured  a  tumbler 
half  full,  and  drank  it  off  at  a  single  draught,  unmixed 
with  water. 

He  then  asked  some  further  question,  which  I  could 
not  hear,  manifesting,  as  it  appeared,  considerable  ex 
citement  of  mind.  In  answering  him,  Matthew  glanced 
his  eyes  upward,  as  if  indicating  some  room  in  the 


132  TEN    NIGHTS    IN   A    BAR-IIOOM. 

house.  The  young  man  then  retired,  hurridly,  through 
the  sitting-room. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Willy  Hammond  to-night?" 
asked  some  one  of  the  bar-keeper.  "Who's  he  after 
in  such  a  hurry  ?" 

"  He  wants  to  see  Judge  Lyman,"  replied  Matthew. 

"Oh!" 

"  I  guess  they're  after  no  good,"  was  remarked. 

"  Not  much,  I'm  afraid." 

Two  young  men,  well  dressed,  and  with  faces  marked 
by  intelligence,  came  in  at  the  moment,  drank  at  the 
bar,  chatted  a  little  while  familiarly  with  the  bar-keeper, 
and  then  quietly  disappeared  through  the  door  leading 
into  the  sitting-room.  I  met  the  eyes  of  the  man  with 
whom  I  had  talked  during  the  afternoon,  and  his  know 
ing  wink  brought  to  mind  his  suggestion,  that  in  one  of 
the  upper  rooms  gambling  went  on  nightly,  and  that 
some  of  the  most  promising  young  men  of  the  town  had 
been  drawn,  through  the  bar  attraction,  into  this  vortex 
of  ruin.  I  felt  a  shudder  creeping  along  my  nerves. 

The  conversation  that  now  went  on  among  the  com 
pany  was  of  such  an  obscene  and  profane  character, 
that,  in  disgust,  I  went  out.  The  night  was  clear,  the 
air  soft,  and  the  moon  shining  down  brightly.  I  walked 
for  some  time  in  the  porch,  musing  on  what  I  had  seen 
and  heard;  while  a  constant  stream  of  visitors  came 
pouring  into  the  bar-room.  Only  a  few  of  these  re 
mained.  The  larger  portion  went  in  quickly,  took  their 


NIGHT  THE   FIFTH.  133 

glass,  and  then  left,  as  if  to  avoid  observation  as  much 
as  possible. 

Soon  after  I  commenced  walking  in  the  porch  I  no 
ticed  an  elderly  lady  go  slowly  by,  who,  in  passing, 
slightly  paused,  and  evidently  tried  to  look  through  the 
bar-room  door.  The  pause  was  but  for  an  instant.  In 
less  than  ten  minutes  she  came  back,  again  stopped — 
this  time  longer — and  again  moved  off  slowly,  until  she 
passed  out  of  sight.  I  was  yet  thinking  about  her, 
when,  on  lifting  my  eyes  from  the  ground,  she  was  ad 
vancing  along  the  road,  but  a  few  rods  distant.  I  al 
most  started  at  seeing  her,  for  there  no  longer  remained 
a  doubt  on  my  mind,  that  she  was  some  trembling, 
heart-sick  mother,  in  search  of  an  erring  son  whose  feet 
were  in  dangerous  paths.  Seeing  me,  she  kept  on, 
though  lingeringly.  She  went  but  a  short  distance  be 
fore  returning ;  and  this  time,  she  moved  in  closer  to 
the  house,  and  reached  a  position  that  enabled  her  eyes 
to  range  through  a  large  portion  of  the  bar-room.  A 
nearer  inspection  appeared  to  satisfy  her.  She  retired 
with  quicker  steps ;  and  did  not  again  return  during  the 
evening. 

Ah !  what  a  commentary  upon  the  uses  of  an  attrac 
tive  tavern  was  here  !  My  heart  ached,  as  I  thought  of 
all  that  unknown  mother  had  suffered ;  and  was  doomed 
to  suffer.  I  could  not  shut  out  the  image  of  her  droop 
ing  form  as  I  lay  upon  my  pillow  that  night ;  she  even 

haunted  me  in  my  dreams. 

12 


NIGHT   THE   SIXTH. 


THE  landlord  did  not  make  his  appearance  on  the 
next  morning  until  nearly  ten  o'clock;  and  then  he 
looked  like  a  man  who  had  been  on  a  debauch.  It  was 
eleven  before  Harvey  Green  came  down.  Nothing 
about  him  indicated  the  smallest  deviation  from  the  most 
orderly  habit.  Clean  shaved,  with  fresh  linen,  and  a 
face  every  line  of  which  was  smoothed  into  calmness,  he 
looked  as  if  he  had  slept  soundly  on  a  quiet  conscience, 
and  now  hailed  the  new  day  with  a  tranquil  spirit. 

The  first  act  of  Slade  was  to  go  behind  the  bar  and 
take  a  stiff  glass  of  brandy  and  water  ;  the  first  act  of 
Green,  to  order  beefsteak  and  coffee  for  his  breakfast. 
I  noticed  the  meeting  between  the  two  men,  on  the  ap 
pearance  of  Green.  There  was  a  slight  reserve  on  the 
part  of  Green,  and  an  uneasy  embarrassment  on  the 
part  of  Slade.  Not  even  the  ghost  of  a  smile  was  visi 
ble  in  either  countenance.  They  spoke  a  few  words  to 
gether,  and  then  separated  as  if  from  a  sphere  of  mutual 
repulsion.  I  did  not  observe  them  again  in  company 
during  the  day. 

"  There's   trouble   over  at  the  mill,"  was  remarked 

134 


FIGHT   THE   SIXTH.  135 

by  a  gentleman  with  whom  I  had  some  business  trans 
actions  in  the  afternoon.  He  spoke  to  a  person  who 
sat  in  his  office. 

"  Ah  !  what's  the  matter  ?"  said  the  other. 

"  All  the  hands  were  discharged  at  noon,  and  the  mill 
shut  down." 

"How  comes  that?" 

"  They've  been  losing  money  from  the  start." 

"  Rather  bad  practice,  I  should  say." 

"  It  involves  some  bad  practices,  no  doubt."     * 

"  On  Willy's  part  ?" 

"  Yes.  He  is  reported  to  hav,e  squandered  the  means 
placed  in  his  hands,  after  a  shameless  fashion." 

"  Is  the  loss  heavy  ?" 

"  So  it  is  said." 

"How  much?" 

"  Reaching  to  thirty  or  forty  thousand  dollars.  But 
this  is  rumour,  and,  of  course,  an  exaggeration." 

"  Of  course.  No  such  loss  as  that  could  have  been 
made.  But  what  was  done  with  the  money  ?  How 
could  Willy  have  spent  it.  He  dashes  about  a  great 
deal ;  buys  fast  horses,  drinks  rather  freely,  and  all 
that;  but  thirty  or  forty  thousand  dollars  couldn't 
escape  in  this  way." 

At  the  moment  a  swift  trotting  horse,  bearing  a  light 
sulky  and  a  man,  went  by. 

"  There  goes  young  Hammond's  three  hundred  dol 
lar  animal,"  said  the  last  speaker. 


136  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"It  was  Willy  Hammond's  yesterday.  But  there 
has  been  a  change  of  ownership  since  then ;  I  happen 
to  know." 

"  Indeed." 

"  Yes.  The  man  Green,  who  has  been  loafing  about 
Cedarville  for  the  last  few  years — after  no  good,  I  can 
well  believe — came  into  possession  to-day." 

"  Ah  ?  Willy  must  be  very  fickle-minded.  Does  the 
possession  of  a  coveted  object  so  soon  bring  satiety  ?" 

"  There  is  something  not  clearly  understood  about  the 
transaction.  I  saw  Mr.  Hammond  during  the  forenoon, 
and  he  looked  terribly  distressed." 

"  The  embarrassed  condition  of  things  at  the  mill 
readily  accounts  for  this." 

"  True ;  but  I  think  there  are  causes  of  trouble 
beyond  the  mere  embarrassments." 

"The  dissolute,  spendthrift  habits  of  his  son,"  was 
suggested.  "These  are  sufficient  to  weigh  down  the 
father's  spirits, — to  bow  him  to  the  very  dust." 

"  To  speak  out  plainly,"  said  the  other,  "  I  am  afraid 
that  the  young  man  adds  another  vice  to  that  of  drinking 
and  idleness." 

"What?" 

"  Gaming." 

"No!" 

"  There  is  little  doubt  of  it  in  my  mind.  And  it  is 
further  my  opinion,  that  his  fine  horse,  for  which  he  paid 
three  hundred  dollars  only  a  few  days  ago,  has  passed 


NIGHT   THE   FOURTH.  137 

into  the  hands  of  this  man  Green,  in  payment  of  a  debt 
contracted  at  the  gaming  table." 

"  You  shock  me.  Surely,  there  can  be  no  grounds  for 
such  a  belief." 

"  I  have,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  the  gravest  reasons  for 
what  I  allege.  That  Green  is  a  professional  gambler, 
who  was  attracted  here  by  the  excellent  company  that 
assembled  at  the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf  in  the  beginning  of 
the  lazy  miller's  pauper-making  experiment,  I  do  not  in 
the  least  question.  Grant  this,  and  take  into  account 
the  fact  that  young  Hammond  has  been  much  in  his 
company,  and  you  have  sufficient  cause  for  the  most 
disastrous  effects." 

"  If  this  be  really  so,"  observed  the  gentleman,  over 
whose  face  a  shadow  of  concern  darkened,  "  then  Willy 
Hammond  may  not  be  his  only  victim." 

"  And  is  not,  you  may  rest  assured.  If  rumour  be 
true,  other  of  our  promising  young  men  are  being  drawn 
into  the  whirling  circles  that  narrow  toward  a  vortex 
of  ruin." 

In  corroboration  of  this,  I  mentioned  the  conversation 
I  had  held  with  one  of  the  frequenters  of  Slade's  bar 
room,  on  this  very  subject ;  and  also  what  I  had  myself 
observed  on  the  previous  evening. 

The  man,  who  had  until  now  been  sitting  quietly  in  a 
chair,  started  up,  exclaiming  as  he  did  so — 

"  Merciful     heaven !      I    never    dreamed    of    this ! 

Whose  sons  are  safe?" 

12* 


138  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

"No  man's,"  was  the  answer  of  the  gentleman  in 
whose  office  we  were  sitting — "No  man's — while  there 
are  such  open  doors  to  ruin  as  you  may  find  at  the 
'  Sickle  and  Sheaf.'  Did  not  you  vote  the  anti-temper 
ance  ticket  at  the  last  election  ?" 

"  I  did,"  was  the  answer ;  "  and  from  principle." 

"  On  what  were  your  principles  based  ?"  was  inquired. 

"  On  the  broad  foundations  of  civil  liberty." 

"  The  liberty  to  do  good  or  evil,  just  as  the  individual 
may  choose  ?" 

"  I  would  not  like  to  say  that.  There  are  certain  evils 
a.gainst  which  there  can  be  no  legislation  that  would 
not  do  harm.  No  civil  power  in  this  country  has  the 
right  to  say  what  a  citizen  shall  eat  or  drink." 

"  But  may  not  the  people,  in  any  community,  pass 
laws,  through  their  delegated  law-makers,  restraining 
evil-minded  persons  from  injuring  the  common  good?" 

"  Oh,  certainly — certainly." 

"  And  are  you  prepared  to  affirm,  that  a  drinking 
shop,  where  young  men  are  corrupted — ay,  destroyed, 
body  and  soul — does  not  work  an  injury  to  the  common 
good  ?" 

"  Ah !  but  there  must  be  houses  of  public  entertain 
ment." 

"No  one  denies  this.  But  can  that  be  a  really 
Christian  community  which  provides  for  the  moral 
debasement  of  strangers,  at  the  same  time  that  it  enter 
tains  them?  Is  it  necessary  that,  in  giving  rest  and 


NIGHT   HIE   SIXTH.  139 

entertainment  to  the  traveller,  we  also  lead  him  into 
temptation  ?" 

"  Yes — But — but it  is  going  too  far  to  legislate 

on  what  we  are  to  eat  and  drink.  It  is  opening  too  wide 
a  door  for  fanatical  oppression.  We  must  inculcate  tem 
perance  as  a  right  principle.  We  must  teach  our  children 
the  evils  of  intemperance,  and  send  them  out  into  the 
world  as  practical  teachers  of  order,  virtue,  and  sobriety. 
If  we  do  this,  the  reform  becomes  radical,  and  in  a  few 
years  there  will  be  no  bar-rooms,  for  none  will  crave 
the  fiery  poison." 

"  Of  little  value,  my  friend,  will  be,  in  far  too  many 
cases,  your  precepts,  if  temptation  invites  our  sons  at 
almost  every  step  of  their  way  through  life.  Thousands 
have  fallen,  and  thousands  are  now  tottering,  soon  to 
fall.  Your  sons  are  not  safe ;  nor  are  mine.  We  cannot 
tell  the  day  nor  the  hour  when  they  may  weakly  yield 
to  the  solicitation  of  some  companion,  and  enter  the 
wide  open  door  of  ruin.  And  are  we  wise  and  good 
citizens  to  commission  men  to  do  the  evil  work  of  entice 
ment  ?  To  encourage  them  to  get  gain  in  corrupting 
and  destroying  our  children  ?  To  hesitate  over  some 
vague  ideal  of  human  liberty,  when  the  sword  is  among 
us,  slaying  our  best  and  dearest  ?  Sir  !  while  you 
hold  back  from  the  work  of  staying  the  flood  that  is 
desolating  our  fairest  homes,  the  black  waters  are 
approaching  your  own  doors." 

There  was  a  startling  emphasis  in  the  tones  with  which 


140  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

this  last  sentence  was  uttered  ;  and  I  did  not  wonder  at 
the  look  of  anxious  alarm  that  it  called  to  the  face  of 
him  whose  fears  it  was  meant  to  excite. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?"  was  inquired. 

"  Simply,  that  your  sons  are  in  equal  danger  with 
others." 

"  And  is  that  all  ?" 

"  They  have  been  seen,  of  late,  in  the  bar-room  of  the 
<  Sickle  and  Sheaf.'  " 

"  Who  says  so  ?" 

"Twice  within  a  week  I  have  seen  them  going  in 
there,"  was  answered. 

"  Good  heavens  !     No  !" 

"  It  is  true,  my  friend.  But  who  is  safe  ?  If  we  dig 
pits,  and  conceal  them  from  view,  what  marvel  if  our  own 
children  fall  therein  ?" 

"  My  sons  going  to  a  tavern !"  The  man  seemed 
utterly  confounded.  "How  can  I  believe  it?  You 
must  be  in  error,  sir." 

"No.  What  I  tell  you  is  the  simple  truth.  And  if 
they  go  there " 

The  man  paused  not  to  hear  the  conclusion  of  the  sen 
tence,  but  went  hastily  from  the  office. 

"We  are  beginning  to  reap  as  we  have  sown," 
remarked  the  gentleman,  turning  to  me  as  his  agitated 
friend  left  the  office.  "As  I  told  them  in  the  com 
mencement  it  would  be,  so  it  is  happening.  The  want 
of  a  good  tavern  in  Cedarville  was  over  and  over  again 


NIGHT   THE   SIXTH.  141 

alleged  as  one  of  the  chief  causes  of  our  want  of  thrift, 
and  when  Slade  opened  the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf,'  the  man 
was  almost  glorified.  The  gentleman  who  has  just  left 
us  failed  not  in  laudation  of  the  enterprising  landlord ; 
the  more  particularly,  as  the  building  of  the  new 
tavern  advanced  the  price  of  ground  on  the  street,  and 
made  him  a  few  hundred  dollars  richer.  Really,  for  a 
time,  one  might  have  thought,  from  the  way  people 
went  on,  that  Simon  Slade  was  going  to  make  every 
man's  fortune  in  Cedarville.  But  all  that  has  been 
gained  by  a  small  advance  in  property,  is  as  a  grain  of 
sand  to  a  mountain,  compared  with  the  fearful  demorali 
zation  that  has  followed." 

I  readily  assented  to  this,  for  I  had  myself  seen  enough 
to  justify  the  conclusion. 

As  1  sat  in  the  bar-room  of  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf" 
that  evening,  I  noticed,  soon  after  the  lamps  were  lighted, 
the  gentleman  referred  to  in  the  above  conversation, 
whose  sons  were  represented  as  visitors  to  the  bar,  come 
in  quietly,  and  look  anxiously  about  the  room.  He 
spoke  to  no  one,  and,  after  satisfying  himself  that  those 
he  sought  were  not  there,  went  out. 

"  What  sent  him  here,  I  wonder  ?"  muttered  Slade, 
speaking  partly  to  himself,  and  partly  aside  to  Matthew, 
the  bar-keeper. 

"After  the  boys,  I  suppose,"  was  answered. 

"I  guess  the  boys  are  old  enough  to  take  care  of 
themselves." 


142  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"They  ought  to  be,"  returned  Matthew. 

"And  are,"  said  Slade.  "Have  they  been  here  this 
evening  ?" 

"No,  not  yet." 

While  they  yet  talked  together,  two  young  men  whom 
I  had  seen  on  the  night  before,  and  noticed  particularly 
as  showing  signs  of  intelligence  and  respectability  be 
yond  the  ordinary  visiters  at  a  bar-room,  came  in. 

"John,"  I  heard  Slade  say,  in  a  low,  confidential 
voice,  to  one  of  them,  "your  old  man  was  here  just  now." 

"No!"  The  young  man  looked  startled — almost 
confounded. 

"It's  a  fact.     So  you'd  better  keep  shady." 

"What  did  he  want?" 

"  I  don't  know." 
'"What  did  he  say?" 

"Nothing.  He  just  came  in,  looked  around,  and 
then  went  out." 

"  His  face  was  dark  as  a  thunder-cloud,"  remarked 
Matthew. 

"  Is  No.  4  vacant  ?"  inquired  one  of  the  young  men. 

"Yes." 

"  Send  us  up  a  bottle  of  wine  and  some  cigars.  And 
when  Bill  Harding  and  Harry  Lee  come  in,  tell  them 
where  they  can  find  us." 

"All  right,"  said  Matthew.  "And  now  take  a 
friend's  advice  and  make  yourselves  scarce." 

The  young  men  left  the  room  hastily.     Scarcely  had 


NIGHT  THE   SIXTH.  143 

they  departed,  ere  I  saw  the  same  gentleman  come  in, 
whose  anxious  face  had,  a  little  while  before,  thrown  its 
shadow  over  the  apartment.  He  was  the  father  in 
search  of  his  sons.  Again  he  glanced  around,  nervously ; 
and  this  time  appeared  to  be  disappointed.  As  he 
entered,  Slade  went  out. 

"  Have  John  and  Wilson  been  here  this  evening  ?"  he 
asked,  coming  up  to  the  bar  and  addressing  Matthew. 

"  They  are  not  here,"  replied  Matthew,  evasively. 

"But  haven't  they  been  here  ?" 

"They  may  have  been  here;  I  only  came  in  from  my 
supper  a  little  while  ago." 

"  I  thought  I  saw  them  entering,  only  a  moment  or 
two  ago." 

"  They're  not  here,  sir."  Matthew  shook  his  head 
and  spoke  firmly. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Slade?" 

"  In  the  house,  somewhere." 

"  I  wish  you  would  ask  him  to  step  here." 

Matthew  went  out,  but  in  a  little  while  came  back 
with  word  that  the  landlord  was  not  to  be  found. 

-"You  are  sure  the  boys  are  not  here,"  said  the  man, 
with  a  doubting,  dissatisfied  manner. 

"  See  for  yourself,  Mr.  Harrison  !" 

"Perhaps  they  are  in  the  parlour?" 

"  Step  in,  sir,"  coolly  returned  Matthews.  The  man 
went  through  the  door  into  the  sitting-room,  but  came 
back  immediately. 


144  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"Not  there?"  said  Matthew.  The  man  shook  his 
head.  "I  don't  think  you  will  find  them  about  here," 
added  the  bar-keeper. 

Mr.  Harrison — this  was  the  name  by  which  Matthew 
had  addressed  him — stood  musing  and  irresolute  for 
some  minutes.  He  could  not  be  mistaken  about  the  en 
trance  of  his  sons,  and  yet  they  were  not  there.  His 
manner  was  much  perplexed.  At  length  he  took  a 
seat,  in  a  far  corner  of  the  bar-room,  somewhat  be 
yond  the  line  of  observation,  evidently  with  the  purpose 
of  waiting  to  see  if  those  he  sought  would  come  in. 
He  had  not  been  there  long,  before  two  young  men 
entered,  whose  appearance  at  once  excited  his  interest. 
They  went  up  to  the  bar  and  called  for  liquor.  As 
Matthew  set  the  decanter  before  them,  he  leaned  over 
the  counter,  and  said  something  in  a  whisper. 

"Where?"  was  instantly  ejaculated,  in  surprise,  and 
both  of  the  young  men  glanced  uneasily  about  the  room. 
They  met  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Harrison,  fixed  intently  upon 
them.  I  do  not  think,  from  the  way  they  swallowed 
their  brandy  and  water,  that  it  was  enjoyed  very 
much. 

"What  the  deu&e  is  he  doing  here?"  I  heard  one  of 
them  say,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  After  the  boys,  of  course." 

"  Have  they  come  yet  ?" 

Matthew  winked  as  he  answered,  "  All  safe." 

"In  No.  4!" 


NIGHT   THE    SIXTH.  145 

"  Yes.     And  the  wine  and  cigars  all  waiting  for  you." 

«  Good." 

"  You'd  better  not  go  through  the  parlour.  Their  old 
man's  not  at  all  satisfied.  He  half  suspects  they're  in 
the  house.  Better  go  off  down  the  street,  and  come 
back  and  enter  through  the  passage." 

The  young  men,  acting  on  this  hint,  at  once  retired, 
the  eyes  of  Harrison  following  them  out. 

For  nearly  an  hour  Mr.  Harrison  kept  his  position,  a 
close  observer  of  all  that  transpired.  I  am  very  much 
in  error,  if,  before  leaving  that  sink  of  iniquity,  he  was 
not  fully  satisfied  as  to  the  propriety  of  legislating  on 
the  liquor  question.  Nay,  I  incline  to  the  opinion,  that, 
if  the  power  of  suppression  had  rested  in  his  hands, 
there  would  not  have  been,  in  the  whole  State,  at  the 
expiration  of  an  hour,  a  single  dram-selling  establish 
ment.  The  goring  of  his  ox  had  opened  his  eyes  to  the 
true  merits  of  the  question.  While  he  was  yet  in  the 
bar-room,  young  Hammond  made  his  appearance.  His 
look  was  wild  and  excited.  First  he  called  for  brandy, 
and  drank  with  the  eagerness  of  a  man  long  athirst. 

"Wherj3  is  Green?"  I  heard  him  inquire,  as  he  set 
his  glass  upon  the  counter. 

"  Haven't  seen  any  thing  of  .him  since  supper,"  was 
answered  by  Matthew. 

"  Is  he  in  his  room  ?" 

"  I  think  it  probable/ 

"  Has  Judge  Lyman  been  about  here  to-night  ?" 

13 


146  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"Yes.  He  spouted  here  for  half  an  hour  against 
the  temperance  party,  as  usual,  and  then" — Matthew 
tossed  his  head  toward  the  door  leading  to  the  sitting- 
room. 

Hammond  was  moving  toward  this  door,  when,  in 
glancing  around  the  room,  he  encountered  the  fixed 
gaze  of  Mr.  Harrison — a  gaze  that  instantly  checked 
his  progress.  Returning  to  the  bar,  and  leaning  over 
the  counter,  he  said  to  Matthew, 

"What  has  sent  him  here?" 

Matthew  winked  knowingly. 

"After  the  boys?"  inquired  Hammond. 

"Yes." 

"Where  are  they?" 

"Up-stairs." 

"Does  he  suspect  this?" 

"  I  can't  tell.  If  he  doesn't  think  them  here  now,  he 
is  looking  for  them  to  come  in." 

"Do  they  know  he  is  after  them  ?" 

"  0  yes." 

"All  safe  then?" 

"  As  an  iron  chest.  If  you  want  to  see  them,  just 
tap  at  No.  4." 

Hammond  stood  for  some  minutes  leaning  on  the  bar, 
and  then,  not  once  again  looking  toward  that  part  of  the 
room  where  Mr.  Harrison  was  seated,  passed  out  through 
the  door  leading  to  the  street.  Soon  afterward  Mr. 
Harrison  departed. 


NIGHT   THE    SIXTH.  147 

Disgusted,  as  on  the  night  before,  with  the  unceasing 
flow  of  vile,  obscene,  and  profane  language,  I  left  my 
place  of  observation  in  the  bar-room  and  sought  the 
open  air.  The  sky  was  unobscured  by  a  single  cloud,  and 
the  moon,  almost  at  the  full,  shone  abroad  with  more 
than  common  brightness.  I  had  not  been  sitting  long 
in  the  porch,  when  the  same  lady,  whose  movements  had 
attracted  my  attention,  came  in  sight,  walking  very 
slowly — the  deliberate  pace  assumed,  evidently,  for  the 
purpose  of  better  observation.  On  coming  opposite  the 
tavern,  she  slightly  paused,  as  on  the  evening  before, 
and  then  kept  on,  passing  down  the  street,  until  she  was 
beyond  observation. 

"  Poor  mother !"  I  was  still  repeating  to  myself,  when 
her  form  again  met  my  eyes.  Slowly  she  advanced, 
and  now  came  in  nearer  to  the  house.  The  interest 
excited  in  my  mind  was  so  strong,  that  I  could  not 
repress  the  desire  I  felt  to  address  her,  and  so  stepped 
from  the  shadow  of  the  porch.  She  seemed  startled, 
and  retreated  backward  several  paces. 

"Are  you  in  search  of  any  one?"  I  inquired,  re 
spectfully. 

The  woman  now  stood  in  a  position  that  let  the  moon 
shine  full  upon  her  face,  revealing  every  feature.  She 
was  far  past  the  meridian  of  life ;  and  there  were  lines 
of  suffering  a'nd  sorrow  on  her  fine  countenance.  I  saw 
that  her  lips  moved,  but  it  was  some  time  before  I  dis 
tinguished  the  words. 


148  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"Have  you  seen  my  son  to-night?  They  say  he 
comes  here." 

The  manner  in  which  this  was  said  caused  a  cold  thrill 
to  run  over  me.  I  perceived  that  the  woman's  mind 
wandered.  I  answered — 

"No,  ma'am ;  I  haven't  seen  any  thing  of  him." 

My  tone  of  voice  seemed  to  inspire  her  with  confi 
dence,  for  she  came  up  close  to  me,  and  bent  her  face 
toward  mine. 

"It's  a  dreadful  place,"  she  whispered,  huskily. 
"  And  they  say  he  comes  here.  Poor  boy !  He  isn't 
what  he  used  to  be." 

"It  is  a  very  bad  place,"  said  I.  "Come" — and  I 
moved  a  step  or  two  in  the  direction  from  which  I  had 
seen  her  approaching — "  come,  you'd  better  go  away 
as  quickly  as  possible." 

"But  if  he's  here,"  she  answered,  not  moving  from 
where  she  stood,  "  I  might  save  him,  you  know." 

"I  am  sure  you  won't  find  him,  ma'am,"  I  urged. 
"Perhaps  he  is  home,  now." 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  !"  And  she  shook  her  head  mournfully. 
"  He  never  comes  home  until  long  after  midnight.  I 
wish  I  could  see  inside  of  the  bar-room.  I'm  sure  he 
must  be  there." 

"  If  you  will  tell  me  his  name,  I  will  go  in  and  search 
for  him." 

After  a  moment  of  hesitation,  she  answered, 

"  His  name  is  Willy  Hammond." 


NIGHT   THE    SIXTH.  149 

How  the  name,  uttered  so  sadly,  and  yet  with  such 
moving  tenderness  by  the  mother's  lips,  caused  me  to 
start — almost  to  tremble. 

"If  he  is  in  the  house,  ma'am,"  said  I,  firmly,  "I  will 
see  him  for  you."  And  I  left  her  and  went  into  the 
bar. 

"  In  what  room  do  you  think  I  will  find  young  Ham 
mond?"  I  asked  of  the  bar-keeper. 

He  looked  at  me  curiously,  but  did  not  answer.  The 
question  had  come  upon  him  unanticipated. 

"  In  Harvey  Green's  room?"  I  pursued. 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure.  He  isn't  in  the  house  to 
my  knowledge.  I  saw  him  go  out  about  half  an  hour 
since." 

"Green's  room  is  No. ?" 

"Eleven,"  he  answered. 

"In  the  front  part  of  the  house  ?" 

"Yes." 

I  asked  no  further  question,  but  went  to  No. 
11,  and  tapped  on  the  door,  But  no  one  answered 
the  summons.  I  listened,  but  could  not  distinguish  the 
slightest  sound  within.  Again  I  knocked;  but  louder. 
If  my  ears  did  not  deceive  me,  the  chink  of  coin  was 
heard.  Still  there  was  neither  voice  nor  movement. 

I  was  disappointed.  That  the  room  had  inmates,  I 
felt  sure.  Remembering,  now,  what  I  had  heard  about 
light  being  seen  in  this  room  through  a  rent  in  the 
curtain,  I  went  down-stairs,  and  out  into  the  street.  A 

13* 


150  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

short  distance  beyond  the  house,  I  saw,  dimly,  the 
woman's  form.  She  had  only  just  passed  in  her  move 
ment  to  and  fro.  Glancing  up  at  the  window,  which  I 
now  knew  to  be  the  one  in  Green's  room,  light  through 
the  torn  curtain  was  plainly  visible.  Back  into  the 
house  I  went,  and  up  to  No.  11.  This  time  I  knocked 
imperatively ;  and  this  time  made  myself  heard. 

"  What's  wanted  ?"  came  from  within.  I  knew  the 
voice  to  be  that  of  Harvey  Green. 

I  only  knocked  louder.  A  hurried  movement  and 
the  low  murmur  of  voices  was  heard  for  some  moments; 
then  the  door  was  unlocked  and  held  partly  open  by 
Green,  whose  body  so  filled  the  narrow  aperture  that  I 
could  not  look  into  the  room.  Seeing  me,  a  dark  scowl 
fell  upon  his  countenance. 

"What  d'ye  want?"  he  inquired,  sharply. 

"  Is  Mr.  Hammond  here  ?  If  so,  he  is  wanted  down 
stairs." 

"No,  he's  not,"  was  the  quick  answer.  "What  sent 
you  here  for  him,  hey?" 

"  The  fact  that  I  expected  to  find  him  in  your  room," 
was  my  firm  answer. 

Green  was  about  shutting  the  door  in  my  face,  when 
some  one  placed  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  said  some 
thing  to  him  that  I  could  not  hear. 

"  Who  wants  to  see  him  ?"  he  inquired  of  me. 

Satisfied,  now,  that  Hammond  was  in  the  room,  I 
said,  slightly  elevating  my  voice, 


NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH.  151 

"  His  mother." 

The  words  were  an  "  open  sesame"  to  the  room.  The 
door  was  suddenly  jerked  open,  and  with  a  blanching 
face,  the  young  man  confronted  me. 

"  Who  says  my  mother  is  down-stairs  ?"  he  demanded. 

"I  come  from  her  in  search  of  you,"  said  I.  "You 
will  find  her  in  the  road,  walking  up  and  down  in  front 
of  the  tavern." 

Almost  with  a  bound  he  swept  by  me,  and  descended 
the  stairway  at  two  or  three  long  strides.  As  the  door 
swung  open,  I  saw,  besides  Green  and  Hammond,  the 
landlord  and  Judge  Lyman.  It  needed  not  the  loose 
cards  on  a  table  near  which  the  latter  w^ere  sitting  to 
tell  me  of  their  business  in  that  room. 

As  quickly  as  seemed  decorous,  I  followed  Hammond. 
On  the  porch  I  met  him,  coming  in  from  the  road. 

"  You  have  deceived  me,  sir,"  said  he,  sternly — almost 
menacingly. 

"No,  sir!"  I  replied.  "  What  I  told  you  was  but  too 
true.  Look!  There  she  is  now." 

The  young  man  sprung  around,  and  stood  before  the 
woman,  a  few  paces  distant. 

"  Mother  !  oh,  mother  !  what  has  brought  you  here  ?" 
he  exclaimed,  in  an  under  tone,  as  he  caught  her  arm, 
and  moved  away.  He  spoke — not  roughly,  nor  angrily 
— -but  with  respect- — half  reproachfulness — and  an  un 
mistakable  tenderness. 

"  Oh,  Willy  !  Willy  !"  I  heard  her  answer.     "  Some- 


152  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

body  said  you  came  here  at  night,  and  I  couldn't  rest. 
Oh,  dear!  They'll  murder  you!  I  know  they  will. 
Don't,  oh ! " 

My  ears  took  in  the  sense  no  further,  though  her 
pleading  voice  still  reached  my  ears.  A  few  moments, 
and  they  were  out  of  sight. 

Nearly  two  hours  afterward,  as  I  was  ascending  to 
my  chamber,  a  man  brushed  quickly  by  me.  I  glanced 
after  him,  and  recognised  the  person  of  young  Ham 
mond.  He  was  going  to  the  room  of  Harvey  Green ! 


NIGHT    THE    SEVENTH. 

JSotomg  %  Mnb. 

THE  state  of  affairs  in  Cedarville,  it  was  plain,  from 
the  partial  glimpses  I  had  received,  was  rather  despe 
rate.  Desperate,  I  mean,  as  regarded  the  various  par 
ties  brought  before  my  observation.  An  eating  cancer 
was  on  the  community,  and  so  far  as  the  eye  could  mark 
its  destructive  progress,  the  ravages  were  fearful.  That 
its  roots  were  striking  deep,  and  penetrating,  concealed 
from  view,  in  many  unsuspected  directions,  there  could 
be  no  doubt.  What  appeared  on  the  surface  was  but  a 
milder  form  of  the  disease,  compared  with  its  hidden, 
more  vital,  and  more  dangerous  advances. 

I  could  not  but  feel  a  strong  interest  in  some  of  these 
parties.  The  case  of  young  Hammond,  had  from  the 
first,  awakened  concern ;  and  now  a  new  element  was 
added  in  the  unlooked-for  appearance  of  his  mother  on 
the  stage,  in  a  state  that  seemed  one  of  partial  derange 
ment.  The  gentleman  at  whose  office  I  met  Mr.  Har 
rison  on  the  day  before— the  reader  will  remember  Mr. 
H.  as  having  come  to  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf"  in  search 
of  his  sons — was  thoroughly  conversant  with  the  affairs 
of  the  village,  and  I  called  upon  him  early  in  the  day 

153 


154  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

in  order  to  make  some  inquiries  about  Mrs.  Hammond. 
My  first  question,  as  to  whether  he  knew  the  lady,  was 
answered  by  the  remark — 

"  Oh,  yes.     She  is  one  of  my  earliest  friends." 

The  allusion  to  her  did  not  seem  to  awaken  agreeable 
states  of  mind.  A  slight  shade  obscured  his  face,  and  I 
noticed  that  he  sighed  involuntarily. 

"Is  Willy  her  only  child?" 

"Her  only  living  child.  She  had  four;  another  son, 
and  two  daughters ;  but  she  lost  all  but  Willy  when  they 
were  quite  young.  And,"  he  added,  after  a  pause — 
"  it  would  have  been  better  for  her,  and  for  Willy  too, 
if  he  had  gone  to  a  better  land  with  them." 

"  His  course  of  life  must  be  to  her  a  terrible  afflic 
tion,"  said  I. 

"It  is  destroying  her  reason,"  he  replied,  with  em 
phasis.  "  He  was  her  idol.  No  mother  ever  loved  a 
Bon  with  more  self-devotion  than  Mrs.  Hammond  loved 
her  beautiful,  fine-spirited,  intelligent,  affectionate  boy. 
To  say  that  she  was  proud  of  him,  is  but  a  tame  expres 
sion.  Intense  love — almost  idolatry — was  the  strong 
passion  of  her  heart.  How  tender,  how  watchful  was 
her  love !  Except  when  at  school,  he  was  scarcely  ever 
separated  from  her.  In  order  to  keep  him  by  her  side, 
she  gave  up  her  thoughts  to  the  .suggestion  and  maturing 
of  plans  for  keeping  his  mind  active  and  interested  in 
her  society — and  her  success  was  perfect.  Up  to  the 
age  of  sixteen  or  seventeen,  I  do  not  think  he  had  a  de- 


NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH.  15-5 

sire  for  other  companionship  than  that  of  his  mother. 
But  this,  you  know,  could  not  last.  The  boy's  matu 
ring  thought  must  go  beyond  the  home  and  social  circle. 
The  great  world,  that  he  was  soon  to  enter,  was  before 
him ;  and  through  loopholes  that  opened  here  and  there, 
he  obtained  partial  glimpses  of  what  was  beyond.  To 
step  forth  into  this  world,  where  he  was  soon  to  be  a 
busy  actor  and  worker,  and  to  step  forth  alone,  next 
came  in  the  natural  order  of  progress.  How  his  mother 
trembled  with  anxiety,  as  she  saw  him  leave  her  side. 
Of  the  dangers  that  would  surround  his  path,  she  knew 
too  well;  and  these  were  magnified  by  her  fears — at 
least  so  I  often  said  to  her.  Alas !  how  far  the  sad 
reality  has  outrun  her  most  fearful  anticipations. 

"  When  Willy  was  eighteen — he  was  then  reading 
law — I  think  I  never  saw  a  young  man  of  fairer  pro 
mise.  As  I  have  often  heard  it  remarked  of  him, 
he  did  not  appear  to  have  a  single  fault.  But  he  had 
a  dangerous  gift — rare  conversational  powers,  united 
with  great  urbanity  of  manner.  Every  one  who  made 
his  acquaintance  became  charmed  with  his  society ;  and 
he  soon  found  himself  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  young 
men,  some  of  whom  were  not  the  best  companions  he 
might  have  chosen.  Still,  his  own  pure  instincts  and 
honourable  principles  were  his  safeguard ;  and  I  never 
have  believed  that  any  social  allurements  would  have 
drawn  him  away  from  the  right  path,  if  this  accursed 
tavern  had  not  been  opened  by  Slade." 


15G  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  There  was  a  tavern  here  before  the  <  Sickle  and 
Sheaf  was  opened,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  yes.  But  it  was  badly  kept,  and  the  bar-room 
visitors  were  of  the  lowest  class.  No  respectable  young 
man  in  Cedarville  would  have  been  seen  there.  It  of 
fered  no  temptations  to  one  moving  in  Willy's  circle. 
But  the  opening  of  the  <  Sickle  and  Sheaf  formed  a 
new  era.  Judge  Hammond — himself  not  the  purest 
man  in  the  world,  I'm  afraid — gave  his  countenance  to 
the  establishment,  and  talked  of  Simon  Slade  as  an  en 
terprising  man  who  ought  to  be  encouraged.  Judge 
Lyman  and  other  men  of  position  in  Cedarville  followed 
his  bad  example ;  and  the  bar-room  of  the  '  Sickle  and 
Sheaf  was  at  once  voted  respectable.  At  all  times  of 
the  day  and  evening  you  could  see  the  flower  of  our 
young  men  going  in  and  out,  sitting  in  front  of  the  bar 
room,  or  talking  hand  and  glove  with  the  landlord,  who, 
from  a  worthy  miller,  regarded  as  well  enough  in  his 
place,  was  suddenly  elevated  into  a  man  of  importance, 
whom  the  best  in  the  village  were  delighted  to  honour. 

"  In  the  beginning,  Willy  went  with  the  tide,  and,  in 
an  incredibly  short  period,  was  acquiring  a  fondness  for 
drink  that  startled  and  alarmed  his  friends.  In  going 
in  through  Slade's  open  door,  he  entered  the  downward 
way,  and  has  been  moving  onward  with  fleet  footsteps 
ever  since.  The  fiery  poison  inflamed  his  mind,  at  the 
same  time  that  it  dimmed  his  noble  perceptions.  Fond 
ness  for  mere  pleasure  followed,  and  this  led  him  into 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  157 

various  sensual  indulgences,  and  exciting  modes  of  pass 
ing  the  time.  Every  one  liked  him — he  was  so  free,  so 
companionable,  and  so  generous — and  almost  every  one 
encouraged,  rather  than  repressed,  his  dangerous  pro 
clivities.  Even  his  father,  for  a  time,  treated  the  mat 
ter  lightly,  as  only  the  first  flush  of  young  life.  'I 
commenced  sowing  my  wild  oats  at  quite  as  early  an 
age,'  I  have  heard  him  say.  <  He'll  cool  off,  and  do  well 
enough.  Never  fear.'  But  his  mother  was  in  a  state 
of  painful  alarm  from  the  beginning.  Her  truer  in 
stincts,  made  doubly  acute  by  her  yearning  love,  per 
ceived  the  imminent  danger,  and  in  all  possible  ways  did 
she  seek  to  lure  him  from  the  path  in  which  he  was  mo 
ving  at  so  rapid  a  pace.  Willy  was  always  very  much 
attached  to  his  mother,  and  her  influence  over  him  was 
strong ;  but  in  this  case  he  regarded  her  fears  as  chi 
merical.  The  way  in  which  he  walked  was,  to  him,  so 
pleasant,  and  the  companions  of  his  journey  so  delight 
ful,  that  he  could  not  believe  in  the  prophesied  evil ; 
and  when  his  mother  talked  to  him  in  her  warning  voice, 
and  with  a  sad  countenance,  he  smiled  at  her  concern, 
and  made  light  of  her  fears. 

"  And  so  it  went  on,  month  after  month,  and  year 
after  year,  until  the  young  man's  sad  declensions  were 
the  town  talk.  In  order  to  throw  his  mind  into  a  new 
channel — to  awaken,  if  possible,  a  new  and  better  interest 
in  life — his  father  ventured  upon  the  doubtful  experiment 
we  spoke  of  yesterday:  that  of  placing  capital  in  his 

14 


158  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

hands,  and  making  him  an  equal  partner  in  the  business 
of  distilling  and  cotton-spinning.  The  disastrous — I 
might  say  disgraceful  result — you  know.  The  young 
man  squandered  his  own  capital,  and  heavily  embarrassed 
his  father. 

"  The  effect  of  all  this  upon  Mrs.  Hammond  has  been 
painful  in  the  extreme.  We  can  only  dimly  imagine 
the  terrible  suffering  through  which  she  has  passed. 
Her  present  aberration  was  first  visible  after  a  long 
period  of  sleeplessness,  occasioned  by  distress  of  mind. 
During  the  whole  of  two  weeks,  I  am  told,  she  did  not 
close  her  eyes ;  the  most  of  that  time  walking  the  floor 
of  her  chamber,  and  weeping.  Powerful  anodynes,  fre 
quently  repeated,  at  length  brought  relief.  But,  when 
she  awoke  from  a  prolonged  period  of  unconsciousness, 
the  brightness  of  her  reason  was  gone.  Since  then,  she 
has  never  been  clearly  conscious  of  what  was  passing 
around  her,  and  well  for  her,  I  have  sometimes  thought 
it  was,  for  even  obscurity  of  intellect  is  a  blessing  in 
her  case.  Ah,  me !  I  always  get  the  heart-ache,  when 
I  think  of  her." 

"  Did  not  this  event  startle  the  young  man  from  his 
fatal  dream,  if  I  may  so  call  his  mad  infatuation  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  No.  He  loved  his  mother,  and  was  deeply  afflicted 
by  the  calamity  ;  but  it  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  stop. 
Some  terrible  necessity  appeared  to  be  impelling  him 
onward.  If  he  formed  good  resolutions — and  I  doubt 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  150 

not  that  he  did, — they  were  blown  away  like  threads  of 
gossamer,  the  moment  he  came  within  the  sphere  of  old 
associations.  His  way  to  the  mill  was  by  the  '  Sickle 
and  Sheaf;'  and  it  was  not  easy  for  him  to  pass  there 
without  being  drawn  into  the  bar,  either  by  his  own 
desire  for  drink  or  through  the  invitation  of  some  plea 
sant  companion,  who  was  lounging  in  front  of  the 
tavern." 

u  There  may  have  been  something  even  more  impelling 
than  his  love  of  drink,"  said  I. 

"What?" 

I  related,  briefly,  the  occurrences  of  the  preceding 
night. 

"  I  feared — nay,  I  was  certain — that  he  was  in  the 
toils  of  this  man  !  And  yet  your  confirmation  of  the 
fact  startles  and  confounds  me,"  said  he,  moving  about 
his  office  in  a  disturbed  manner.  "  If  my  mind  has 
questioned  and  doubted  in  regard  to  young  Hammond, 
it  questions  and  doubts  no  longer.  The  word  '  mystery' 
is  not  now  written  over  the  door  of  his  habitation. 
Great  Father !  and  is  it  thus  that  our  young  men  are 
led  into  temptation  ?  Thus  that  their  ruin  is  premedi 
tated,  secured?  Thus  that  the  fowler  is  permitted  to 
spread  his  net  in  the  open  day,  and  the  destroyer 
licensed  to  work  ruin  in  darkness?  It  is  awful  to  con 
template  !" 

The  man  was  strongly  excited. 

"  Thus  it  is,"  he  continued ;  "  and  we  who  see  the 


160  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

whole  extent,  origin,  and  downward  rushing  force  of  a 
widely  sweeping  desolation,  lift  our  voices  of  warning 
almost  in  vain.  Men  who  have  every  thing  at  stake — 
sons  to  be  corrupted,  and  daughters  to  become  the  wives 
of  young  men  exposed  to  corrupting  influences — stand 
aloof,  questioning  and  doubting  as  to  the  expediency  of 
protecting  the  innocent  from  the  wolfish  designs  of  bad 
men,  who,  to  compass  their  own  selfish  ends,  would  destroy 
them  body  and  soul.  We  are  called  fanatics,  ultraists, 
designing,  and  all  that,  because  we  ask  our  law-makers 
to  stay  the  fiery  ruin.  Oh,  no !  we  must  not  touch  the 
traffic.  All  the  dearest  and  best  interests  of  society  may 
suffer ;  but  the  rum-seller  must  be  protected.  He  must 
be  allowed  to  get  gain,  if  the  jails  and  poor-houses  are 
filled,  and  the  graveyards  made  fat  with  the  bodies  of 
young  men  stricken  down  in  the  flower  of  their  years, 
and  of  wives  and  mothers  who  have  died  of  broken 
hearts.  Reform,  we  are  told,  must  commence  at  home. 
We  must  rear  temperate  children,  and  then  we  shall 
have  temperate  men.  That  when  there  are  none  to 
desire  liquor,  the  rum-seller's  traffic  will  cease.  And  all 
the  while  society's  true  benefactors  are  engaged  in  doing 
this,  the  weak,  the  unsuspecting,  and  the  erring  must  be 
left  an  easy  prey,  even  if  the  work  requires  for  its  accom 
plishment  a  hundred  years.  Sir !  a  human  soul  destroyed 
through  the  rum-seller's  infernal  agency,  is  a  sacrifice 
priceless  in  value.  No  considerations  of  worldly  gain  can, 
for  an  instant,  be  placed  in  comparison  therewith.  And 


NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH.  161 

yet  souls  are  destroyed  by  thousands  every  year;  and 
they  will  fall  by  tens  of  thousands  ere  society  awakens 
from  its  fatal  indifference,  and  lays  its  strong  hand  of 
power  on  the  corrupt  men  who  are  scattering  disease, 
ruin,  and  death,  broadcast  over  the  land  ! 

"  I  always  get  warm  on  this  subject,"  he  added,  repress 
ing  his  enthusiasm.  "And  who  that  observes  and 
reflects  can  help  growing  excited  ?  The  evil  is  appal 
ling  ;  and  the  indifference  of  the  community  one  of  the 
strangest  facts  of  the  day." 

While  he  was  yet  speaking,  the  elder  Mr.  Hammond 
came  in.  He  looked  wretched.  The  redness  and 
humidity  of  his  eyes  showed  want  of  sleep,  and  the 
relaxed  muscles  of  his  face  exhaustion  from  weariness 
and  suffering.  He  drew  the  person  with  whom  I  had 
been  talking  aside,  and  continued  in  earnest  conversation 
with  him  for  many  minutes — often  gesticulating  violently. 
I  could  see  his  face,  though  I  heard  nothing  of  what  he 
said.  The  play  of  his  features  was  painful  to  look  upon, 
for  every  changing  muscle  showed  a  new  phase  of  mental 
suffering. 

"  Try  and  see  him,  will  you  not  ?"  he  said,  as  he 
turned,  at  length,  to  leave  the  office. 

"  I  will  go  there  immediately,"  was  answered. 

"  Bring  him  home,  if  possible." 

"My  very  best  efforts  shall  be  made." 

Judge  Hammond  bowed,  and  went  out  hurriedly. 

"  Do  you  know  the  number  of  the  room  occupied  by 
u* 


162  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

the  man  Green  ?"  asked  the  gentleman,  as  soon  as  his 
visitor  had  retired. 

"  Yes.     It  is  No.  11." 

"Willy  has  not  been  home  since  last  night.  His 
father,  at  this  late  day,  suspects  Green  to  be  a  gambler  ! 
The  truth  flashed  upon  him  only  yesterday  ;  and  this, 
added  to  his  other  sources  of  trouble,  is  driving  him,  so 
he  says,  almost  mad.  As  a  friend,  he  wishes  me  to 
go  to  the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf,'  and  try  and  find  Willy. 
Have  you  seen  any  thing  of  him  this  morning  ?" 

I  answered  in  the  negative. 

" Nor  of  Green?" 

"No." 

"  Was  Slade  about  when  you  left  the  tavern  ?" 

"  I  saw  nothing  of  him." 

"What  Judge  Hammond  fears  may  be  all  too  true — 
that,  in  the  present  condition  of  Willy's  affairs,  which 
have  reached  the  point  of  disaster,  his  tempter  means  to 
secure  the  largest  possible  share  of  property  yet  in  his 
power  to  pledge  or  transfer, — to  squeeze  from  his  victim 
the  last  drop  of  blood  that  remains,  and  then  fling  him, 
ruthlessly,  from  his  hands." 

"  The  young  man  must  have  been  rendered  almost 
desperate,  or  he  would  never  have  returned,  as  he  did, 
last  night.  Did  you  mention  this  to  his  father?" 

"  No.  It  would  have  distressed  him  the  more,  without 
effecting  any  good.  He  is  wretched  enough.  But  time 
passes,  and  none  is  to  be  lost  now.  Will  you  go  with  me  ?" 


NIGHT    THE    SEVENTH.  163 

I  walked  to  the  tavern  with  him  ;  and  we  went  into 
the  bar  together.  Two  or  three  men-  were  at  the  counter, 
drinking. 

"Is  Mr.  Green  about  this  morning?"  was  asked  by 
the  person  who  had  come  in  search  of  young  Hammond. 

"  Haven't  seen  any  thing  of  him." 

"  Is  he  in  his  room  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Will  you  ascertain  for  me  ?" 

"  Certainly.  Frank," — and  he  spoke  to  the  landlord's 
son,  who  was  lounging  on  a  settee, — "  I  wish  you  would 
see  if  Mr.  Green  is  in  his  room." 

"  Go  and  see  yourself.  I'm  not  your  waiter,"  was 
growled  back,  in  an  ill-natured  voice. 

"  In  a  moment  I'll  ascertain  for  you,"  said  Matthew, 
politely. 

After  waiting  on  some  new  customers,  who  were  just 
entering,  Matthew  went  up-stairs  to  obtain  the  desired 
information.  As  he  left  the  bar-room,  Frank  got  up  and 
went  behind  the  counter,  where  he  mixed  himself  a  glass 
of  liquor,  and  drank  it  off,  evidently  with  real  enjoyment. 

"  Rather  a  dangerous  business  for  one  so  young  as 
you  are,"  remarked  the  gentleman  with  whom  I  had 
come,  as  Frank  stepped  out  of  the  bar,  and  passed  near 
where  we  were  standing.  The  only  answer  to  this  was  an 
ill-natured  frown,  and  an  expression  of  face  which  said, 
almost  as  plainly  as  words,  "It's  none  of  your  business." 

"  Not  there,"  said  Matthew,  now  .coming  in. 


164  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"Are  you  certain?'* 

"  Yes,  sir." 

But  there  was  a  certain  involuntary  hesitation  in  the 
bar-keeper's  manner,  which  led  to  a  suspicion  that  his 
answer  was  not  in  accordance  with  the  truth.  We 
walked  out  together,  conferring  on  the  subject,  and  both 
concluded  that  his  word  was  not  to  be  relied  upon. 

"  What  is  to  be  done?"  was  asked. 

"Go  to  Green's  room,"  I  replied,  " and  knock  at  the 
door.  If  he  is  there,  he  may  answer,  not  suspecting 
your  errand." 

"  Show  me  the  room.' 

I  went  up  with  him,  and  pointed  out  No.  11.  He 
knocked  lightly,  but  there  came  no  sound  from  within. 
He  repeated  the  knock;  all  was  silent.  Again  and 
again  he  knocked,  but  there  came  back  only  a  hollow 
reverberation. 

"  There's  no  one  there,"  said  he,  returning  to  where  I 
stood,  and  we  walked  down-stairs  together.  On  the 
landing,  as  we  reached  the  lower  passage,  we  met  Mrs. 
Slade.  I  had  not,  during  this  visit  at  Cedarville,  stood 
face  to  face  with  her  before.  Oh!  what  a  wreck  she 
presented,  with  her  pale,  shrunken  countenance,  hollow, 
lustreless  eyes,  and  bent,  feeble  body.  I  almost  shud 
dered  as  I  looked  at  her.  What  a  haunting  and  sternly 
rebuking  spectre  she  must  have  moved,  daily,  before  the 
eyes  of  her  husband. 


NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH.  165 

"Have  you  noticed  Mr.  Green  about  this  morning?" 
I  asked. 

"  He  hasn't  come  down  from  his  room  yet,"  she 
replied. 

"  Are  you  certain  ?"  said  my  companion.  "  I  knocked 
several  times  at  the  door  just  now,  but  received  no 
answer." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  him  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Slade, 
fixing  her  eyes  upon  us. 

"  We  are  in  search  of  Willy  Hammond  ;  and  it  has 
been  suggested  that  he  is  with  Green." 

"  Knock  twice  lightly,  and  then  three  times  more 
firmly,"  said  Mrs.  Slade  ;  and  as  she  spoke,  she  glided 
past  us  with  noiseless  tread. 

"  Shall  we  go  up  together  ?" 

I  did  not  object,  for,  although  I  had  no  delegated 
right  of  intrusion,  my  feelings  were  so  much  excited  in 
the  case,  that  I  went  forward,  scarcely  reflecting  on  the 
propriety  of  so  doing. 

The  signal  knock  found  instant  answer.  The  door 
was  softly  opened,  and  the  unshaven  face  of  Simon  Slade 
presented  itself. 

"Mr.  Jacobs!"  he  said,  with  surprise  in  his  tones. 
"  Do  you  wish  to  see  me  ?" 

"No,  sir;  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Green,"  and  with  a  quick, 
firm  pressure  against  the  door,  he  pushed  it  wide  open. 
The  same  party  was  there  that  I  had  seen  on  the  night 
before, — Green,  young  Hammond,  Judge  Lyman,  and 


166  TEN    NIGHTS   IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

Slade.  On  the  table  at  which  the  three  former  were 
sitting,  were  cards,  slips  of  paper,  an  inkstand  and 
pens,  and  a  pile  of  bank-notes.  On  a  side  table,  or, 
rather,  butler's  tray,  were  bottles,  decanters,  and 
glasses. 

"  Judge  Lyman !  Is  it  possible  ?"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Jacobs,  the  name  of  my  companion  :  "  I  did  not  expect 
to  find  you  here." 

Green  instantly  swept  his  hands  over  the  table  to 
secure  the  money  and  bills  it  contained  ;  but,  ere  he  had 
accomplished  his  purpose,  young  Hammond  grappled 
three  or  four  narrow  strips  of  paper,  and  hastily  tore 
them  into  shreds. 

"  You're  a  cheating  scoundrel !"  cried  Green,  fiercely, 
thrusting  his  hand  into  his  bosom  as  if  to  draw  from 
thence  a  weapon ;  but,  the  words  were  scarcely  uttered, 
ere  Hammond  sprung  upon  him  with  the  fierceness  of  a 
tiger,  bearing  him  down  upon  the  floor.  Both  hands 
were  already  about  the  gambler's  neck,  and,  ere  the 
bewildered  spectators  could  interfere,  and  drag  him  off, 
Green  was  purple  in  the  face,  and  nearly  strangled. 

"  Call  me  a  cheating  scoundrel !"  said  Hammond, 
foaming  at  the  mouth,  as  he  spoke, — "  Me  !  whom  you 
have  followed  like  a  thirsty  bloodhound.  Me !  whom 
you  have  robbed,  and  cheated,  and  debased  from  the 
beginning !  Oh  !  for  a  pistol  to  rid  the  earth  of  the 
blackest-hearted  villain  that  walks  its  surface.  Let  me 
go,  gentlemen  !  I  have  nothing  left  in  the  world  to  care 


NIGHT    THE   SEVENTH.  167 

for, — there  is  no  consequence  I  fear.     Let  me  do  society 
one  good  service  before  I  die !" 

And,  with  one  vigorous  effort,  he  swept  himself 
clear  of  the  hands  that  were  pinioning  him,  and  sprung 
again  upon  the  gambler  with  the  fierce  energy  of  a 
savage  beast.  By  this  time,  Green  had  got  his  knife  free 
from  its  sheath,  and,  as  Hammond  was  closing  upon  him 
in  his  blind  rage,  plunged  it  into  his  side.  Quick  almost 
as  lightning,  the  knife  was  withdrawn,  and  two  more 
stabs  inflicted  ere  we  could  seize  and  disarm  the  mur 
derer.  As  we  did  so,  Willy  Hammond  fell  over  with  a 
deep  groan,  the  blood  flowing  from  his  side. 

In  the  terror  and  excitement  that  followed,  Green 
rushed  from  the  room.  The  doctor,  who  was  instantly 
summoned,  after  carefully  examining  the  wound,  and  the 
condition  of  the  unhappy  young  man,  gave  it  as  his 
opinion  that  he  was  fatally  injured. 

Oh  !  the  anguish  of  the  father,  who  had  quickly  heard 
of  the  dreadful  occurrence,  when  this  announcement  was 
made.  I  never  saw  such  fearful  agony  in  any  human 
countenance.  The  calmest  of  all  the  anxious  group  was 
Willy  himself.  On  his  father's  face  his  eyes  wtre  fixed 
as  if  by  a  kind  of  fascination. 

"Are  you  in  much  pain,  my  poor  boy!"  sobbed  the 
old  man,  stooping  over  him,  until  his  long  white  hair 
mingled  with  the  damp  locks  of  the  sufferer. 

"  Not  much,  father,"  was  the  whispered  reply.  "Don't 
speak  of  this  to  mother,  yet.  I'm  afraid  it  will  kill  her." 


168  TEN  NIGHTS   IN   A  BAR-ROOM. 

What  could  the  father  answer  ?  Nothing  !  And  lie 
was  silent. 

"Does  she  know  of  it?"  A  shadow  went  over  his 
face. 

Mr.  Hammond  shook  his  head. 

Yet,  even  as  he  spoke,  a  wild  cry  of  distress  was 
heard  below.  Some  indiscreet  person  had  borne  to  the 
ears  of  the  mother  the  fearful  news  about  her  son,  and 
she  had  come  wildly  flying  toward  the  tavern,  and  was 
just  entering. 

'It  is  my  poor  mother,"  said  Willy,  a  flush  coming 
into  his  pale  face.  "Who  could  have  told  her  of  this?" 

Mr.  Hammond  started  for  the  door,  but  ere  he  had 
reached  it,  the  distracted  mother  entered. 

"Oh!  Willy,  my  boy!  my  boy!"  she  exclaimed,  in 
tones  of  anguish  that  made  the  heart  shudder.  And 
she  crouched  down  on  the  floor,  the  moment  she  reached 
the  bed  whereon  he  lay,  and  pressed  her  lips — oh,  so 
tenderly  and  lovingly ! — to  his. 

"  Dear  mother  !  Sweet  mother  !  Best  of  mothers !" 
He  even  smiled  as  he  said  this ;  and,  into  the  face  that 
now  bent  over  him,  looked  up  with  glances  of  unuttera 
ble  fondness. 

"Oh,  Willy!  Willy!  Willy!  my  son,  my  son  !"  And 
again  her  lips  were  laid  closely  to  his. 

Mr.  Hammond  now  interfered,  and  endeavoured  to  re 
move  his  wife,  fearing  for  the  consequence  upon  his  son. 

"Don't,  father!"  said  Willy;  "let  her  remain.     I 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  169 

am  not  excited  nor  disturbed.  I  am  glad  that  she  is 
here,  now.  It  will  be  best  for  us  both." 

"  You  must  not  excite  him,  dear,"  said  Mr.  Ham 
mond — "  he  is  very  weak." 

"I'll  not  excite  him,"  answered  the  mother.  "I'll 
not  speak  a  word.  There,  love" — and  she  laid  her  fin 
gers  softly  upon  the  lips  of  her  son — "  don't  speak  a 
single  word." 

For  only  a  few  moments  did  she  sit  with  the  quiet 
formality  of  a  nurse,  who  feels  how  much  depends  on  the 
repose  of  her  patient.  Then  she  began,  weeping,  moan 
ing,  and  wringing  her  hands. 

"Mother!"  The  feeble  voice  of  Willy  stilled,  in 
stantly,  the  tempest  of  feeling.  "Mother,  kiss  me!" 

She  bent  down  and  kissed  him. 

"  Are  you  there,  mother  ?"  His  eyes  moved  about, 
with  a  straining  motion. 

"  Yes,  love,  here  I  am." 

"  I  don't  see  you,  mother.  It's  getting  so  dark.  Oh, 
mother  !  mother  !"  he  shouted  suddenly,  starting  up  and 
throwing  himself  forward  upon  her  bosom — "  save  me  ! 
save  me !" 

How  quickly  did  the  mother  clasp  her  arms  around 
him — how  eagerly  did  she  strain  him  to  her  bosom !  The 
doctor,  fearing  the  worst  consequences,  now  came  for 
ward,  and  endeavoured  to  release  the  arms  of  Mrs. 
Hammond,  but  she  resisted  every  attempt  to  do  so. 

"I  will  save  you,  my  son,"  she  murmured  in  the  ears 

15 


170  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

of  the  young  man.  "  Your  mother  will  protect  you. 
Oh !  if  you  had  never  left  her'  side,  nothing  on  earth 
could  have  done  you  harm." 

"He  is  dead!"  I  heard  the  doctor  whisper;  and,  a 
thrill  of  horror  went  through  me.  The  words  reached 
the  ears  of  Mr.  Hammond,  and  his  groan  was  one  of 
almost  mortal  agony. 

"Who  says  he  is  dead?"  came  sharply  from  the  lips 
of  the  mother,  as  she  pressed  the  form  of  her  child  back 
upon  the  bed  from  which  he  had  sprung  to  her  arms, 
and  looked  wildly  upon  his  face.  One  long  scream  of 
horror  told  of  her  convictions,  and  she  fell,  lifeless, 
across  the  body  of  her  dead  son! 

All  in  the  room  believed  that  Mrs.  Hammond  had 
only  fainted.  But  the  doctor's  perplexed,  troubled 
countenance,  as  he  ordered  her  carried  into  another 
apartment,  and  the  ghastliness  of  her  face  when  it  was 
upturned  to  the  light,  suggested  to  every  one  what 
proved  to  be  true.  Even  to  her  obscured  perceptions, 
the  consciousness  that  her  son  was  dead  came  with  a 
terrible  vividness — so  terrible,  that  it  extinguished  her 
life. 

Like  fire  among  dry  stubble  ran  the  news  of  this  fear 
ful  event  through  Cedarville.  The  whole  town  was  wild 
with  excitement.  The  prominent  fact,  that  Willy  Ham 
mond  had  been  murdered  by  Green,  whose  real  profes 
sion  was  known  by  many,  and  now  declared  to  all,  was 
on  every  tongue ;  but  a  hundred  different  and  exagge- 


NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH.  171 

rated  stories  as  to  the  cause  and  the  particulars  of  the 
event  were  in  circulittion.  By  the  time  preparations  to 
remove  the  dead  bodies  of  mother  and  son  from  the 
"  Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  to  the  residence  of  Mr.  Hammond, 
•were  completed,  hundreds  of  people,  men,  women,  and 
children,  were  assembled  around  the  tavern ;  and  many 
voices  were  clamorous  for  Green ;  while  some  called  out 
for  Judge  Lyman,  whose  name,  it  thus  appeared,  had 
become  associated  in  the  minds  of  the  people  with  the 
murderous  affair.  The  appearance,  in  the  midst  of  this 
excitement,  of  the  two  dead  bodies,  borne  forth  on  set 
tees,  did  not  tend  to  allay  the  feverish  state  of  indigna 
tion  that  prevailed.  From  more  than  one  voice,  I  heard 
the  words,  "  Lynch  the  scoundrel !" 

A  part  of  the  crowd  followed  the  sad  procession,  while 
the  greater  portion,  consisting  of  men,  remained  about 
the  tavern.  All  bodies,  no  matter  for  what  purpose 
assembled,  quickly  find  leading  spirits  who,  feeling  the 
great  moving  impulse,  give  it  voice  and  direction.  It 
was  so  in  this  case.  Intense  indignation  against  Green 
was  firing  every  bosom  ;  and  when  a  man  elevated  him 
self  a  few  feet  above  the  agitated  mass  of  humanity,  and 
cried  out — 

"  The  murderer  must  not  escape  !" 

A  wild  responding  shout,  terrible  in  its  fierceness, 
made  the  air  quiver. 

"  Let  ten  men  be  chosen  to  search  the  house  and 
premises,"  said  the  leading  spirit. 


172  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAK-ROOM. 

"  Ay !  ay !  Choose  them !  Name  them !"  was 
quickly  answered. 

Ten  men  were  called  by  name,  who  instantly  stepped 
in  front  of  the  crowd. 

"  Search  everywhere ;  from  garret  to  cellar ;  from 
hayloft  to  dog-kennel.  Everywhere !  everywhere !"  cried 
the  man. 

And  instantly  the  ten  men  entered  the  house.  For 
nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  crowd  waited  "with  in 
creasing  signs  of  impatience.  These  delegates  at  length 
appeared,  with  the  announcement  that  Green  was  no 
where  about  the  premises.  It  was  received  with  a  groan. 

"  Let  no  man  in  Cedarville  do  a  stroke  of  work  until 
the  murderer  is  found,"  now  shouted  the  individual  who 
still  occupied  his  elevated  position. 

"  Agreed !  agreed  !  No  work  in  Cedarville  until  the 
murderer  is  found,"  rang  out  fiercely. 

"  Let  all  who  have  horses,  saddle  and  bridle  them  as 
quickly  as  possible,  and  assemble,  mounted,  at  the  Court 
House." 

About  fifty  men  left  the  crowd  hastily. 

"  Let  the  crowd  part  in  the  centre,  up  and  down  the 
road,  starting  from  a  line  in  front  of  me." 

This  order  was  obeyed. 

"  Separate  again,  taking  the  centre  of  the  road  for  a 
line." 

Four  distinct  bodies  of  men  stood  now  in  front  of  the 
tavern. 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  173 

"Now  search  for  the  murderer  ,in  every  nook  and 
corner,  for  a  distance  of  three  miles  from  this  spot ; 
each  party  keeping  to  its  own  section ;  the  road  being 
one  dividing  line,  and  a  line  through  the  centre  of  this 
tavern  the  other.  The  horsemen  will  pursue  the  wretch 
to  a  greater  distance." 

More  than  a  hundred  acquiescing  voices  responded  to 
this,  as  the  man  sprung  down  from  his  elevation  and 
mingled  with  the  crowd,  which  began  instantly  to  move 
away  on  its  appointed  mission. 

As  the  hours  went  by,  one,  and  another,  and  another, 
of  the  searching  party  returned  to  the  village,  wearied 
with  their  efforts,  or  confident  that  the  murderer  had 
made  good  his  escape.  The  horsemen,  too,  began  to 
come  in,  during  the  afternoon,  and  by  sundown,  the  last 
of  them,  worn  out  and  disappointed,  made  their  ap 
pearance. 

For  hours  after  the  exciting  events  of  the  forenoon, 
there  were  but  few  visitors  at  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf." 
Slade,  who  did  not  show  himself  among  the  crowd,  came 
down  soon  after  its  dispersion.  He  had  shaved  and 
put  on  clean  linen ;  but  still  bore  many  evidences  of  a 
night  spent  without  sleep.  His  eyes  were  red  and 
heavy  and  the  eyelids  swollen;  while  his  skin  was  re 
laxed  and  colourless.  As  he  descended  the  stairs,  I  was 
walking  in  the  passage.  He  looked  shy  at  me,  and 
merely  nodded.  Guilt  was  written  .plainly  on  his  coun 
tenance;  and  with  it  was  blended  anxiety  and  alarm. 

15* 


174  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

That  lie  might  be  involved  in  trouble,  he  had  reason  to 
fear ;  for,  he  was  one  of  the  party  engaged  in  gambling 
in  Green's  room,  as  both  Mr.  Jacobs  and  I  had  witnessed. 

"  This  is  dreadful  business,"  said  he,  as  we  met,  face 
to  face,  half  an  hour  afterward.  He  did  not  look  me 
steadily  in  the  eyes. 

"  It  is  horrible !"  I  answered.  "  To  corrupt  and 
ruin  a  young  man,  and  then  murder  him !  There  are 
few  deeds  in  the  catalogue  of  crime  blacker  than  this." 

"  It  was  done  in  the  heat  of  passion,"  said  the  land 
lord,  with  something  of  apology  in  his  manner.  "  Green 
never  meant  to  kill  him." 

"  In  peaceful  intercourse  with  his  fellow  men,  why 
did  he  carry  a  deadly  weapon  ?  There  was  murder  in 
his  heart,  sir." 

"That  is  speaking  very  strongly." 
.  "Not  stronger  than  facts  will  warrant,"  I  replied. 
"  That  Green  is  a  murderer  in  heart,  it  needed  not  this 
awful  consummation  to  show.  With  a  cool,  deliberate 
purpose,  he  has  sought,  from  the  beginning,  to  destroy 
young  Hammond." 

"It  is  hardly  fair,"  answered  Slade,  "in  the  present 
feverish  excitement  against  Green,  to  assume  such  a 
questionable  position.  It  may  do  him  a  great  wrong." 

"  Did  Willy  Hammond  speak  only  idle  words,  when 
he  accused  Green  of  having  followed  him  like  a  thirsty 
bloodhound? — of  having  robbed,  and  cheated,  and  de 
based  him  from  the  beginning  ?" 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  175 

"  He  was  terribly  excited  at  the  moment." 

"Yet,"  said  I,  "no  ear  that  heard  his  words  could 
for  an  instant  doubt  that  they  were  truthful  utterances, 
wrung  from  a  maddened  heart." 

My  earnest,  positive  manner  had  its  effect  upon 
Slade.  He  knew  that  what  I  asserted,  the  whole  history 
of  Green's  intercourse  with  young  Hammond  would 
prove ;  and  he  had,  moreover,  the  guilty  consciousness 
of  being  a  party  to  the  young  man's  ruin.  His  eyes 
cowered  beneath  the  steady  gaze  I  fixed  upon  him.  I 
thought  of  him  as  one  implicated  in  the  murder,  and  my 
thought  must  have  been  visible  in  my  face. 

"  One  murder  will  not  justify  another,"  said  he. 

"  There  is  no  justification  for  murder  on  any  plea,7' 
was  my  response. 

"And  yet,  if  these  infuriated  men  find  Green,  they 
will  murder  him." 

"I  hope  not.  Indignation  at  a  horrible  crime  has 
fearfully  excited  the  people.  But  I  think  their  sense  of 
justice  is  strong  enough  to  prevent  the  consequences  you 
apprehend." 

"  I  would  not  like  to  be  in  Green's  shoes,"  said  the 
landlord,  with  an  uneasy  movement. 

I  looked  him  closely  in  the  face.  It  was  the  punish 
ment  of  the  man's  crime  that  seemed  so  fearful  in  his 
eyes ;  not  the  crime  itself.  Alas !  how  the  corrupting 
traffic  had  debased  him. 

My  words  were  so  little  relished  by  Slade,  that  he 


176  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

found  some  ready  excuse  to  leave  me.  I  saw  but  little 
more  of  him  during  the  day. 

As  evening  began  to  fall,  the  gambler's  unsuccessful 
pursuers,  one  after  another,  found  their  way  to  the 
tavern,  and  by  the  time  night  had  fairly  closed  in,  the 
bar-room  was  crowded  with  excited  and  angry  men, 
chafing  over  their  disappointment,  and  loud  in  their 
threats  of  vengeance.  That  Green  had  made  good  his 
escape,  was  now  the  general  belief;  and  the  stronger 
this  conviction  became,  the  more  steadily  did  the  current 
of  passion  begin  to  set  in  a  new  direction.  It  had  be 
come  known  to  every  one,  that,  besides  Green  and  young 
Hammond,  Judge  Lyman  and  Slade  were  in  the  room 
engaged  in  playing  cards.  The  merest  suggestion  as  to 
the  complicity  of  these  two  men  with  Green  in  ruining 
Hammond,  and  thus  driving  him  mad,  was  enough  to 
excite  strong  feeling  against  them;  and  now  that  the 
mob  had  been  cheated  of  its  victim,  its  pent  up  indigna 
tion  sought  eagerly  some  new  channel. 

"Where's  Slade?"  some  one  asked,  in  a  loud  voice, 
from  the  centre  of  the  crowded  bar-room.  "  Why  does 
he  keep  himself  out  of  sight  ?" 

"  Yes ;  where's  the  landlord?"  half  a  dozen  voices  re 
sponded. 

"  Did  he  go  on  the  hunt  ?"  some  one  inquired. 

"No  !"  "No !"  "No  !"  ran  round  the  room.  "Not 
he." 


NIGHT  THE   SEVENTH.  177 

"And  yet,  the  murder  was  committed  in  his  own 
house,  and  before  his  own  eyes !" 

"  Yes,  before  his  own  eyes !"  repeated  one  and  an 
other,  indignantly. 

"Where's  Slade?  Where's  the  landlord?  Has 
anybody  seen  him  to-night  ?  Matthew,  where's  Simon 
Slade?" 

From  lip  to  lip  passed  these  interrogations ;  while 
the  crowd  of  men  became  agitated,  and  swayed  to  and 
fro. 

"  I  don't  think  he's  home,"  answered  the  bar-keeper, 
in  a  hesitating  manner,  and  with  visible  alarm. 

"  How  long  since  he  was  here  ?" 

"I  haven't  seen  him  for  a  couple  of  hours." 

"That's  a  lie!"  was  sharply  said. 

"Who  says  it's  a  lie?"  Matthew  affected  to  be 
strongly  indignant. 

"  I  do !"  And  a  rough,  fierce-looking  man  confronted 
him. 

"What  right  have  you  to  say  so?"  asked  Matthew, 
cooling  off  considerably. 

"Because  you  lie  !"  said  the  man,  boldly.  "You've 
seen  him  within  a  less  time  than  half  an  hour,  and  well 
you  know  it.  Now,  if  you  wish  to  keep  yourself  out  of 
this  trouble,  answer  truly.  We  are  in  no  mood  to  deal 
with  liars  or  equivocators.  Where  is  Simon  Slade?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Matthew,  firmly. 

"  Is  he  in  the  house  ?" 


178  TEN   NJGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  He  may  be,  or  he  may  not  be.  I  am  just  as  igno 
rant  of  his  exact  whereabouts  as  you  are." 

"Will  you  look  for  him?" 

Matthew  stepped  to  the  door,  opening  from  behind 
the  bar,  and  called  the  name  of  Frank. 

"What's  wanted?"  growled  the  boy. 

"  Is  your  father  in  the  house  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  nor  don't  care,"  was  responded  in  the 
same  ungracious  manner. 

"  Some  one  bring  him  into  the  bar-room,  and  we'll 
see  if  we  can't  make  him  care  a  little." 

The  suggestion  was  no  sooner  made,  than  two  men 
glided  behind  the  bar,  and  passed  into  the  room  from 
which  the  voice  of  Frank  had  issued.  A  moment  after 
they  reappeared,  each  grasping  an  arm  of  the  boy,  and 
bearing  him  like  a  weak  child  between  them.  He  looked 
thoroughly  frightened  at  this  unlocked  for  invasion  of 
his  liberty. 

"  See  here,  young  man."  One  of  the  leading  spirits 
of  the  crowd  addressed  him,  as  soon  as  he  was  brought 
in  front  of  the  counter.  "  If  you  wish  to  keep  out  of 
trouble,  answer  our  questions  at  once,  and  to  the  point. 
We  are  in  no  mood  for  trifling.  Where's  your  father?" 

"  Somewhere  about  the  house,  I  believe,"  Frank  re 
plied,  in  an  humbled  tone.  He  was  no  little  scared  at 
the  summary  manner  with  which  he  had  been  treated. 

"  How  long  since  you  saw  him  ?" 

"Not  long  ago." 


NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH.  179 

"  Ten  minutes  ?" 

"  No  :  nearly  half  an  hour." 

"Where  was  he  then  ?" 

"  He  was  going  up-stairs." 

"Very  well,  we  want  him.     See  him,  and  tell  him  so." 

Frank  went  into  the  house,  but  came  back  into  the 
bar-room  after  an  absence  of  nearly  five  minutes,  and 
said  that  he  could  not  find  his  father  anywhere. 

" Where  is  he  then?"  was  angrily  demanded. 

"  Indeed,  gentlemen,  I  don't  know."  Frank's  anxious 
look  and  frightened  manner  showed  that  he  spoke  truly. 

"  There's  something  wrong  about  this — something 
wrong — wrong,"  said  one  of  the  men.  "Why  should 
he  be  absent  now  ?  Why  has  he  taken  no  steps  to  se 
cure  the  man  who  committed  a  murder  in  his  own  house, 
and  before  his  own  eyes?" 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  aided  him  to  escape,"  said 
another,  making  this  serious  charge  with  a  restlessness 
and  want  of  evidence  that  illustrated  the  reckless  and 
unjust  spirit  by  which  a  mob  is  ever  governed. 

"No  doubt  of  it  in  the  least!"  was  the  quick  and 
positive  response.  And  at  once  this  erroneous  convic 
tion  seized  upon  every  one.  Not  a  single  fact  was  pre 
sented.  The  simple,  bold  assertion,  that  no  doubt  existed 
in  the  mind  of  one  man  as  to  Slade's  having  aided  Green 
to  escape,  was  sufficient  for  the  unreflecting  mob. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  Where  is  he  ?  Let  us  find  him.  He 
knows  where  Green  is,  and  he  shall  reveal  the  secret." 


180  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   EAR-ROOM. 

This  was  enough.  The  passions  of  the  crowd  were  at 
fever  heat  again.  Two  or  three  men  were  chosen  to 
search  the  house  and  premises,  while  others  dispersed  to 
take  a  wider  range.  One  of  the  men  who  volunteered 
to  go  over  the  house  was  a  person  named  Lyon,  with 
whom  I  had  formed  some  acquaintance,  and  several 
times  conversed  with  on  the  state  of  affairs  in  Cedar ville. 
He  still  remained  too  good  a  customer  at  the  bar.  I 
left  the  bar  at  the  same  time  that  he  did,  and  went  up 
to  my  room.  We  walked  side  by  side,  and  parted  at 
my  door,  I  going  in,  and  he  continuing  on  to  make  his 
searches.  I  felt,  of  course,  anxious  and  much  excited, 
as  well  in  consequence  of  the  events  of  the  day,  as  the 
present  aspect  of  things.  My  head  was  aching  violently, 
and  in  the  hope  of  getting  relief,  I  laid  myself  down. 
I  had  already  lighted  a  candle,  and  turned  the  key  in 
my  door  to  prevent  intrusion.  Only  for  a  short  time 
did  I  lie,  listening  to  the  hum  of  voices  that  came  with 
a  hoarse  murmur  from  below,  to  the  sound  of  feet  moving 
along  the  passages,  and  to  the  continual  opening  and 
shutting  of  doors,  when  something  like  suppressed 
breathing  reached  my  ears.  I  started  up  instantly,  and 
listened ;  but  my  quickened  pulses  were  now  audible  to 
my  own  sense,  and  obscured  what  was  external. 

"It  is  only  imagination,"  I  said  to  myself.  Still,  I 
sat  upright,  listening. 

Satisfied,  at  length,  that  all  was  mere  fancy,  I  laid 
myself  back  on  the  pillow,  and  tried  to  turn  my  thoughts 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  181 

away  from  the  suggested  idea  that  some  one  was  in  the 
room.  Scarcely  had  I  succeeded  in  this,  when  my  heart 
gave  a  new  impulse,  as  a  sound  like  a  movement  fell 
upon  my  ears. 

"  Mere  fancy !"  I  said  to  myself,  as  some  one  went 
past  the  door  at  the  moment.  "  My  mind  is  over  ex 
cited." 

Still  I  raised  my  head,  supporting  it  with  my  hand, 
and  listened,  directing  my  attention  inside,  and  not  out 
side  of  the  room.  I  was  about  letting  my  head  fall 
back  upon  the  pillow,  when  a  slight  cough,  so  distinct 
as  not  to  be  mistaken,  caused  me  to  spring  to  the  floor, 
and  look  under  the  bed.  The  mystery  was  explained. 
A  pair  of  eyes  glittered  in  the  candlelight.  The  fugitive, 
Green,  was  under  my  bed.  For  some  moments  I  stood 
looking  at  him,  so  astonished  that  I  had  neither  utter 
ance  nor  decision ;  while  he  glared  at  me  with  a  fierce 
defiance.  I  saw  that  he  was  clutching  a  revolver. 

"  Understand  !"  he  said,  in  a  grating  whisper,  "  that 
I  am  not  to  be  taken  alive." 

I  let  the  blanket,  which  had  concealed  him  from  view, 
fall  from  my  hand,  and  then  tried  to  collect  my 
thoughts. 

"Escape  is  impossible,"  said  I,  again  lifting  the  tem 
porary  curtain  by  which  he  was  hid.  "  The  whole  town 
is  armed,  and  on  the  search ;  and  should  you  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  mob,  in  its  present  state  of  exaspera 
tion,  your  life  would  not  be  safe  an  instant.  Remain, 

16 


182  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

then,  quiet,  where  you  are,  until  I  can  see  the  sheriff,  to 
whom  you  had  better  resign  yourself,  for  there's  little 
chance  for  you  except  under  his  protection." 

After  a  brief  parley,  .he  consented  that  things  should 
take  this  course,  and  I  went  out,  locking  the  room  door 
after  me,  and  started  in  search  of  the  sheriff.  On  the 
information  I  gave,  the  sheriff  acted  promptly.  With 
five  officers,  fully  armed  for  defence,  in  case  an  effort 
were  made  to  get  the  prisoner  out  of  their  hands,  he  re 
paired  immediately  to  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf."  I  had 
given  the  key  of  my  room  into  his  possession. 

The  appearance  of  the  sheriff,  with  his  posse,  was 
sufficient  to  start  the  suggestion  that  Green  was  some 
where  concealed  in  the  house;  and  a  suggestion  was 
only  needed  to  cause  the  fact  to  be  assumed,  and  un 
hesitatingly  declared.  Intelligence  went  through  the 
reassembling  crowd  like  an  electric  current,  and  ere  the 
sheriff  could  manacle  and  lead  forth  his  prisoner,  the 
stairway  down  which  he  had  to  come  was  packed  with 
bodies,  and  echoing  with  oaths  and  maledictions. 

"  Gentlemen,  clear  the  way !"  cried  the  sheriff,  as  he 
appeared  with  the  white  and  trembling  culprit  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs.  "  The  murderer  is  now  in  the  hands 
of  the  law,  and  will  meet  the  sure  consequences  of  his 
crime." 

A  shout  of  execration  rent  the  air ;  but  not  a  single 
individual  stirred. 

"  Give  way,   there !     Give  way !"     And  the  sheriff 


NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH.  183 

took  a  step  or  two  forward,  but  the  prisoner  held 
back. 

"  Oh,  the  murdering  villain  !  The  cursed  blackleg  ! 
Where's  Willy  Hammond !"  was  heard  distinctly  above 
the  confused  mingling  of  voices. 

"  Gentlemen !  the  law  must  have  its  course ;  and  no 
good  citizen  will  oppose  the  law.  It  is  made  for  your 
protection — for  mine — and  for  that  of  the  prisoner."  . 

"Lynch  law  is  good  enough  for  him,"  shouted  a 
savage  voice.  "  Hand  him  over  to  us,  sheriff,  and  we'll 
save  you  tlie  trouble  of  hanging  him,  and  the  county 
the  cost  of  a  gallows.  We'll  do  the  business  right." 

Five  men,  each  armed  with  a  revolver,  now  ranged 
themselves  around  the  sheriff,  and  the  latter  said  firmly, 

"It  is  my  duty  to  see  this  man  safely  conveyed  to 
prison ;  and  I'm  going  to  do  my  duty.  If  there  is  any 
more  blood  shed  here,  the  blame  will  rest  with  you." 
And  the  body  of  officers  pressed  forward,  the  mob  slowly 
retreating  before  them. 

Green,  overwhelmed  with  terror,  held  back.  I  was 
standing  where  I  could  see  his  face.  It  was  ghastly  with 
mortal  fear.  Grasping  his  pinioned  arms,  the  sheriff 
forced  him  onward.  After  contending  with  the  crowd 
for  nearly  ten  minutes,  the  officers  gained  the  passage 
below ;  but  the  mob  was  denser  here,  and  blocking  up 
the  door,  resolutely  maintained  their  position. ' 

Again  and  again  the  sheriff  appealed  to  the  good 
sense  and  justice  of  the  people. 


184  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-llOOM. 

"  The  prisoner  will  have  to  stand  a  trial ;  and  the  law 
will  execute  sure  vengeance." 

"No,  it  won't!"  was  sternly  responded. 

"  Who'll  be  judge  in  the  case  ?"  was  asked. 

"Why,  Judge  Lyman !"  was  contemptuously  an 
swered. 

"A  blackleg  himself!"  was  shouted  by  two  or  three 
voices. 

"  Blackleg  judge,  and  blackleg  lawyers  !  Oh,  yes  ! 
The  law  will  execute  sure  vengeance !  Who  was  in  the 
room  gambling  with  Green  and  Hammond  ?'* 

"Judge  Lyman!"  "Judge  Lyman!"  was  answered 
back. 

"  It  won't  do,  sheriff!  There's  no  law  in  the  country 
to  reach  the  case  but  Lynch  law ;  and  that  the  scoundrel 
must  have.  Give  him  to  us  !" 

"Never!  On,  men,  with  the  prisoner!"  cried  the 
sheriff  resolutely,  and  the  posse  made  a  rush  toward  the 
door,  bearing  back  the  resisting  and  now  infuriated 
crowd.  Shouts,  cries,  oaths,  and  savage  imprecations 
blended  in  wild  discord ;  in  the  midst  of  which  my  blood 
was  chilled  by  the  sharp  crack  of  a  pistol.  Another  and 
another  shot  followed ;  and  then,  as  a  cry  of  pain  thrilled 
the  air,  the  fierce  storm  hushed  its  fury  in  an  instant. 

"Who's  shot?     Is  he  killed?" 

There  was  a  breathless  eagerness  for  the  answer. 

"  It's  the  gambler  !"  was  replied.  "  Somebody  has 
shot  Green." 


NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH.  185 

A  low  muttered  invective  against  the  victim  was 
heard  here  and  there;  but  the  announcement  was  not 
received  with  a  shout  of  exultation,  though  there  was 
scarcely  a  heart  that  did  not  feel  pleasure  at  the  sacrifice 
of  Harvey  Green's  life. 

It  was  true  as  had  been  declared.  Whether  the  shot 
were  aimed  deliberately,  or  guided  by  an  unseen  hand 
to  the  heart  of  the  gambler,  was  never  known ;  nor  did 
the  most  careful  examination,  instituted  afterward  by 
the  county,  elicit  any  information  that  even  directed 
suspicion  toward  the  individual  who  became  the  agent 
of  his  death. 

At  the  coroner's  inquest,  held  over  the  dead  body  of 
Harvey  Green,  Simon  Slade  was  present.  Where  he  had 
concealed  himself  while  the  mob  were  in  search  of  him, 
was  not  known.  He  .looked  haggard;  and  his  eyes 
were  anxious  and  restless.  Two  murders  in  his '  house, 
occurring  in  a  single  day,  were  quite  enough  to  darken 
his  spirits ;  and  the  more  so,  as  his  relations  with  both 
the  victims  were  not  of  a  character  to  awaken  any  thing 
but  self-accusation. 

As  for  the  mob,  in  the  death  of  Green  its  eager  thirst 
for  vengeance  was  satisfied.  Nothing  more  was  said 
against  Slade,  as  a  participator  in  the  ruin  and  death  of 
young  Hammond.  The  popular  feeling  was  one  of  pity 
rather  than  indignation  toward  the  landlord ;  for  it  was 
seen  that  he  was  deeply  troubled. 

One  thing  I  noticed,  and  it  was  that  the  drinking  at 

16* 


186  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

the  bar  was  not  suspended  for  a  moment.  A  large  pro 
portion  of  those  who  made  up  the  crowd  of  Green's 
angry  pursuers,  were  excited  by  drink  as  well  as  indig 
nation,  and  I  am  very  sure  that,  but  for  the  maddening 
effects  of  liquor,  the  fatal  shot  would  never  have  been 
fired.  After  the  fearful  catastrophe,  and  when  every 
mind  was  sobered,  or  ought  to  have  been  sobered,  the 
crowd  returned  to  the  bar-room,  where  the  drinking  was 
renewed.  So  rapid  were  the  calls  for  liquor,  that  both 
Matthew,  and  Frank,  the  landlord's  son,  were  kept  busy 
mixing  the  various  compounds  demanded  by  the  thirsty 
customers. 

From  the  constant  stream  of  human  beings  that 
flowed  toward  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  after  the  news 
of  Green's  discovery  and  death  went  forth,  it  seemed  as 
if  every  man  and  boy  within  a  distance  of  two  or  three 
miles  had  received  intelligence  of  the  event.  Few, 
very  of  those  who  came,  but  went  first  into  the  bar 
room  ;  and  nearly  all  who  entered  the  bar-room  called 
for  liquor.  In  an  hour  after  the  death  of  Green,  the 
fact  that  his  dead  body  was  laid  out  in  the  room  imme 
diately  adjoining,  seemed  utterly  to  pass  from  the  con 
sciousness  of  every  one  in  the  bar.  The  calls  for  liquor 
were  incessant ;  and,  as  the  excitement  of  drink  in 
creased,  voices  grew  louder,  and  oaths  more  plentiful, 
while  the  sounds  of  laughter  ceased  not  for  an  instant. 

"  They're  giving  him  a  regular  Irish  wake,"  I  heard 
remarked,  with  a  brutal  laugh. 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  187 

I  turned  to  the  speaker,  and  to  my  great  surprise,  saw 
that  it  was  Judge  Lyman,  more  under  the  influence 
of  drink  than  I  remembered  to  have  seen  him.  He 
was  about  the  last  man  I  expected  to  find  here.  If  he 
knew  of  the  strong  indignation  expressed  toward  him  a 
little  while  before,  by  some  of  the  very  men  now  excited 
with  liquor,  his  own  free  drinking  had  extinguished  fear. 

"  Yes,  curse  him  !"  was  the  answer.  "  If  they  have  a 
particularly  hot  corner  f  away  down  below,'  I  hope  he's 
made  its  acquaintance  before  this." 

"  Most  likely  he's  smelled  brimstone,"  chuckled  the 
judge. 

"  Smelled  it !  If  old  Clubfoot  hasn't  treated  him  with 
a  brimstone-bath  long  before  this,  he  hasn't  done  his  duty. 
If  I  thought  as  much,  I'd  vote  for  sending  his  majesty  a 
remonstrance  forthwith." 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  judge.  "You're  warm  on 
the  subject." 

"Ain't  I?  The  blackleg  scoundrel!  Hell's  too 
good  for  him." 

"  H-u-s-h  !  Don't  let  your  indignation  run  into  pro 
fanity,"  said  Judge  Lyman,  trying  to  assume  a  serious 
air ;  but  the  muscles  of  his  face  but  feebly  obeyed  his 
will's  feeble  effort. 

"  Profanity !  Poh  !  I  don't  call  that  profanity.  It's 
only  speaking  out.  in  meeting,  as  they  say, — it's  only 
calling  black,  black — and  white,  white.  You  believe  in 
a  hell,  don't  you,  judge  ?" 


188  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  I  suppose  there  is  one ;  though  I  don't  know  very 
certain." 

"  You'd  better  be  certain !"  said  the  other,  meaningly. 

"Why  so?" 

"  Oh  !  because  if  there  is  one,  and  you  don't  cut  your 
cards  a  little  differently,  you'll  be  apt  to  find  it  at  the 
end  of  your  journey." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  the  judge,  retreat 
ing  somewhat  into  himself,  and  trying  to  look  dignified. 

"Just  what  I  say,"  was  unhesitatingly  answered. 

"Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  any  thing?"  asked  the 
judge,  whose  brows  were  beginning  to  knit  themselves. 

"Nobody  thinks  you  a  saint,"  replied  the  man,  roughly. 

"I  never  professed  to  be." 

"  And  it  is  said," — the  man  fixed  his  gaze  almost  in 
sultingly  upon  Judge  Lyman's  face—"  that  you'll  get  about 
as  hot  a  corner  in  the  lower  regions  as  is  to  be  found 
there,  whenever  you  make  the  journey  in  that  direction." 

"  You  are  insolent !"  exclaimed  the  judge,  his  face 
becoming  inflamed. 

"  Take  care  what  you  say,  sir !"  The  man  spoke 
threateningly. 

"You'd  better  take  care  what  you  say." 

"  So  I  will,"  replied  the  other.     "  But " 

"  What's  to  pay  here  ?"  inquired  a  third  party,  coming 
up  at  the  moment,  and  interrupting  the  speaker. 

"The  devil  will  be  to  pay,"  said  Judge  Lyman,  "if 
somebody  don't  look  out  sharp." 


NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH.  189 

"Do  you  mean  that  for  me,  ha  ?"  The  man,  between 
•whom  and  himself  this  slight  contention  had  so  quickly 
sprung  up,  began  stripping  back  his  coat  sleeves,  like 
one  about  to  commence  boxing. 

"  I  mean  it  for  anybody  -who  presumes  to  offer  me  an 
insult." 

The  raised  voices  of  the  two  men  now  drew  toward 
them  the  attention  of  every  one  in  the  bar-room. 

"  The  devil !  There's  Judge  Lyman  !"  I  heard  some 
one  exclaim,  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  Wasn't  he  in  the  room  with  Green  when  Willy  Ham 
mond  was  murdered?"  asked  another. 

"  Yes,  he  was ;  and  what's  more,  it  is  said  he  had 
been  playing  against  him  all  night,  he  and  Green  sharing 
the  plunder." 

This  last  remark  came  distinctly  to  the  ears  of  Lyman, 
•who  started  to  his  feet  instantly,  exclaiming  fiercely — 

"Whoever  says  that  is  a  cursed  liar !" 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth,  before  a 
blow  staggered  him  against  the  wall,  near  which  he  was 
standing.  Another  blow  felled  him,  and  then  his  assail 
ant  sprang  over  his  prostrate  body,  kicking  him,  and 
stamping  upon  his  face  and  breast  in  the  most  brutal, 
shocking  manner. 

"Kill  him!  He's  worse  than  Green!"  somebody 
cried  out,  in  a  voice  so  full  of  cruelty  and  murder  that 
it  made  my  blood  curdle.  "  Remember  Willy  Hamr 
mond !" 


190  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

The  terrible  scene  that  followed,  in  which  were  heard 
a  confused  mingling  of  blows,  cries,  yells,  and  horrible 
oaths,  continued  for  several  minutes,  and  ceased  only 
when  the  words—"  Don't,  don't  strike  him  any  more  ! 
He's  dead !"  were  repeated  several  times.  Then  the 
wild  strife  subsided.  As  the  crowd  parted  from  around 
the  body  of  Judge  Lyman,  and  gave  way,  I  caught  a 
single  glance  at  his  face.  It  was  covered  with  blood, 
and  every  feature  seemed  to  have  been  literally  trampled 
down,  until  all  was  a  level  surface !  Sickened  at  the 
sight,  I  passed  hastily  from  the  room  into  the  open  air, 
and  caught  my  breath  several  times,  before  respiration 
again  went  on  freely.  As  I  stood  in  front  of  the  tavern, 
the  body  of  Judge  Lyman  was  borne  out  by  three  or  four 
men,  and  carried  off  in  the  direction  of  his  dwelling. 

"Is  he  dead?"  I  inquired  of  those  who  had  him  in 
charge. 

"  No,"  was  the  answer.  "  He's  not  dead,  but  terribly 
beaten,"  and  they  passed  on. 

Again  the  loud  voices  of  men  in  angry  strife  arose  in 
the  bar-room.  I  did  not  return  there  to  learn  the  cause, 
or  to  witness  the  fiend-like  conduct  of  men,  all  whose 
worst  passions  were  stimulated  by  drink  into  the  wildest 
fervour.  As  I  was  entering  my  room,  the  thought  flashed 
through  my  mind  that,  as  Green  was  found  there,  it 
needed  only  the  bare  suggestion  that  I  had  aided  in  his 
Concealment,  to  direct  toward  me  the  insane  fury  of  the 
drunken  mob. 


NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH.  191 

"It  is  not  safe  to  remain  here,"  I  said  this  to  myself, 
with  the  emphasis  of  a  strong  internal  conviction. 

Against  this,  my  mind  opposed  a  few  feeble  argu 
ments  ;  but,  the  more  I  thought  of  the  matter,  the  more 
clearly  did  I  become  satisfied,  that  to  attempt  to  pass 
the  night  in  that  room  was  to  me  a  risk  it  was  not  pru 
dent  to  assume. 

So  I  went  in  search  of  Mrs.  Slade,  to  ask  her  to  have 
another  room  prepared  for  me.  But  she  was  not  in 
the  house ;  and  I  learned,  upon  inquiry,  that  since  the 
murder  of  young  Hammoud,  she  had  been  suffering  from 
repeated  hysterical  and  fainting  fits,  and  was  now,  with 
her  daughter,  at  the  house  of  a  relative,  whither  she  h<ad 
been  carried  early  in  the  afternoon. 

It  was  on  my  lip  to  request  the  chambermaid  to  give 
me  another  room  ;  but  this  I  felt  to  be  scarcely  prudent, 
for  if  the  popular  indignation  should  happen  to  turn 
toward  me,  the  servant  would  be  the  one  questioned, 
most  likely,  as  to  where  I  had  removed  my  quarters. 

"  It  isn't  safe  to  stay  in  the  house,"  said  I,  speaking 
to  myself.  "  Two,  perhaps  three,  murders,  have  been 
committed  already.  The  tiger's  thirst  for  blood  has 
been  stimulated,  and  who  can  tell  how  quickly  he  may 
spring  again,  or  in  what  direction  ?" 

Even  while  I  said  this,  there  came  up  from  the  bar 
room  louder  and  madder  shouts.  Then  blows  were 
heard,  mingled  with  cries  and  oaths.  A  shuddering 
sense  of  danger  oppressed  me,  and  I  went  hastily  down- 


192  TEN    NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

stairs,  and  out  into  the^  street.  As  I  gained  the  pas 
sage,  I  looked  into  the  sitting-room,  where  the  body  of 
Green  was  laid  out.  Just  then,  the  bar-room  door  was 
burst  open  by  a  fighting  party,  who  had  been  thrown, 
in  their  fierce  contention,  against  it.  I  paused  only  for 
a  moment  or  two ;  and  even  in  that  brief  period  of 
time,  saw  blows  exchanged  over  the  dead  body  of  the 
gambler ! 

"  This  is  no  place  for  me,"  I  said,  almost  aloud,  and 
hurried  from  the  house,  and  took  my  way  to  the  resi 
dence  of  a  gentleman  who  had  shown  me  many  kind 
nesses  during  my  visits  at  Cedarville.  There  was  needed 
scarcely  a  word  of  representation  on  my  part,  to  secure 
the  cordial  tender  of  a  bed. 

What  a  change !  It  seemed  almost  like  a  passage 
from  Pandemonium  to  a  heavenly  region,  as  I  seated 
myself  alone  in  the  quiet  chamber  a  cheerful  hospitality 
had  assigned  me,  and  mused  on  the  exciting  and  ter 
rible  incidents  of  the  day.  They  that  sow  the  wind 
shall  reap  the  whirlwind.  How  marked  had  been  the 
realization  of  this  prophecy,  couched  in  such  strong  but 
beautiful  imagery  ! 

On  the  next  day  I  was  to  leave  Cedarville.  Early  in 
the  morning  I  repaired  to  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf."  The 
storm  was  over,  and  all  was  calm  and  silent  as  desola 
tion.  Hours  before,  the  tempest  had  subsided  ;  but  the 
evidences  left  behind  of  its  ravaging  fury  were  fearful  to 
look  upon.  Doors,  chairs,  windows,  and  tables  were 


NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH.  193 

broken,  and  even  the  strong  brass  rod  that  ornamented 
the  bar  had  been  partially  wrenched  from  its  fastenings 
by  strong  hands,  under  an  impulse  of  murder,  that  only 
lacked  a  weapon  to  execute  its  fiendish  purpose.  Stains 
of  blood,  in  drops,  marks,  and  even  dried-up  pools,  were 
to  be  seen  all  over  the  bar-room  and  passage  floors,  and 
in  many  places  on  the  porch. 

In  the  sitting-room  still  lay  the  body  of  Green.  Here, 
too,  were  many  signs  to  indicate  a  fierce  struggle.  The 
looking-glass  was  smashed  to  a  hundred  pieces,  and  the 
shivered  fragments  lay  yet  untouched .  upon  the  floor. 
A  chair,  which  it  was  plain  had  been  used  as  a  weapon 
of  assault,  had  two  of  its  legs  broken  short  off,  and  was 
thrown  into  a  corner.  And  even  the  bearers,  on  which 
the  dead  man  lay,  were  pushed  from  their  true  position, 
showing  that  even  in  its  mortal  sleep,  the  body  of  Green 
had  felt  the  jarring  strife  of  elements  he  had  himself 
helped  to  awaken  into  mad  activity.  From  his  face, 
the  sheet  had  been  drawn  aside ;  but  no  hand  ventured 
to  replace  it ;  and  there  it  lay,  in  its  ghastly  paleness, 
exposed  to  the  light,  and  covered  with  restless  flies,  at 
tracted  by  the  first  faint  odours  of  putridity.  With  gaze 
averted,  I  approached  the  body,  and  drew  the  covering 
decently  over  it. 

No  person  was  in  the  bar.  I  went  out  into  the  stable 
yard,  where  I  met  the  hostler  with  his  head  bound  up. 
There  was  a  dark  blue  circle  around  one  of  his  eyes, 
and  an  ugly-looking  red  scar  on  his  cheek. 


194  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Slade  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  In  bed,  and  likely  to  keep  it  for  a  week,"  was  an 
swered. 

"  How  comes  that  ?" 

"Naturally  enough.  There  was  fighting  all  around 
last  night,  and  he  had  to  come  in  for  a  share.  The  fool ! 
If  he'd  just  held  his  tongue,  he  might  have  come  out 
of  it  with  a  whole  skin.  But,  when  the  rum  is  in,  the 
wit  is  out,  with  him.  It's  cost  me  a  black  eye  and  a 
broken  head ;  for  how  could  I  stand  by  and  see  him 
murdered  outright  ?" 

"  Is  he  very  badly  injured  ?" 

"  I  rather  think  he  is.     One  eye  is  clean  gone." 

"  Oh,  shocking !" 

"  It's  shocking  enough,  and  no  mistake." 

"  Lost  an  eye  !" 

"  Too  true,  sir.  The  doctor  saw  him  this  morning, 
and  says  the  eye  was  fairly  gouged  out,  and  broken  up. 
In  fact,  when  we  carried  him  up-stairs  for  dead  last 
night,  his  eye  was  lying  upon  his  cheek.  I  pushed  it 
back  with  my  own  hand  !" 

"  Oh,  horrible  !"  The  relation  made  me  sick.  "  Is 
he  otherwise  much  injured  ?" 

"  The  doctor  thinks  there  are  some  bad  hurts  inside. 
Why,  they  kicked  and  trampled  upon  him,  as  if  he  had 
been  a  wild  beast !  I  never  saw  such  a  pack  of  blood 
thirsty  devils  in  my  life." 

"  So  much  for  rum,"  said  I. 


NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH.  195 

"Yes,  sir;  so  much  for  rum,"  was  the  emphatic  re 
sponse.  "  It  was  the  rum,  and  nothing  else.  Why, 
some  of  the  very  men  who  acted  the  most  like  tigers  and 
devils,  are  as  harmless  persons  as  you  will  find  in  Ce- 
darville  when  soher.  Yes,  sir;  it  was  the  rum,  and 
nothing  else.  Rum  gave  me  this  broken  head  and  black 
eye." 

"  So  you  had  been  drinking  also  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes.     There's  no  use  in  denying  that." 

"Liquor  does  you  harm." 

"  Nobody  knows  that  better  than  I  do." 

"Why  do  you  drink,  then  ?" 

"  Oh,  just  because  it  comes  in  the  way.  Liquor  is 
under  my  eyes  and  nose  all  the  time,  and  it's  as  natural 
as  breathing  to  take  a  little  now  and  then.  And  when 
I  don't  think  of  it  myself,  somebody  will  think  of  it  for 
me,  and  say — '  Come,  Sam,  let's  take  something.'  So 
you  see,  for  a  body  such  as  I  am,  there  isn't  much  help 
for  it." 

"  But  ain't  you  afraid  to  go  on  in  this  way  ?  Don't 
you  know  where  it  will  all  end  ?" 

"  Just  as  well  as  anybody.  It  will  make  an  end  ot 
me — or  of  all  that  is  good  in  me.  Rum  and  ruin,  you 
know,  sir.  They  go  together  like  twin  brothers." 

"  Why  don't  you  get  out  of  the  way  of  temptation  ?" 
said  I. 

"It's  easy  enough  to  ask  that  question,  sir ;  but  how 
am  I  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  temptation  ?  Where  shall 


196  TEN   NIGHTS   IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

I  go,  and  not  find  a  bar  in  my  road,  and  somebody  to 
say — '  Come,  Sam,  let's  take  a  drink  ?'  It  can't  be  done, 
sir,  nohow.  I'm  a  hostler,  and  don't  know  how  to  be 
any  thing  else." 

"  Can't  you  work  on  a  farm  ?" 

"  Yes ;  I  can  do  something  in  that  way.  But,  when 
there  are  taverns  and  bar-rooms,  as  many  as  three  or 
four  in  every  mile  all  over  the  country,  how  are  you  to 
keep  clear  of  them  ?  Figure  me  out  that." 

"  I  think  you'd  better  vote  on  the  Maine  Law  side  at 
next  election,"  said  I. 

"Faith,  and  I  did  it  last  time  !"  replied  the  man,  with 
a  brightening  face — "and  if  I'm  spared,  I'll  go  the 
same  ticket  next  year." 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  Law?"  I  asked. 

"  Think  of  it !  Bless  your  heart !  if  I  was  a  praying 
man,  which  I'm  sorry  to  say  I  ain't — my  mother  was  a 
pious  woman,  sir" — his  voice  fell  and  slightly  trembled — 
"  if  I  was  a  praying  man,  sir,  I'd  pray,  night  and  morn 
ing,  and  twenty  times  every  day  of  my  life,  for  God  to 
put  it  into  the  hearts  of  the  people  to  give  us  that  Law. 
I'd  have  some  hope  then.  But  I  haven't  much  as  it  is. 
There's  no  use  in  trying  to  let  liquor  alone." 

"  Do  many  drinking  men  think  as  you  do  ?" 

"  I  can  count  up  a  dozen  or  two  myself.  It  isn't  the 
drinking  men  who  are  so  much  opposed  to  the  Maine 
Law,  as  your  politicians.  They  throw  dust  in  the  peo 
ple's  eyes  about  it,  and  make  a  great  many  who  know 


NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH.  197 

nothing  at  all  of  the  evils  of  drinking  in  themselves,  be 
lieve  some  bugbear  story  about  trampling  on  the  rights 
of  I  don't  know  who,  nor  they  either.  As  for  rum-sel 
ler's  rights,  I  never  could  see  any  right  they  had  to  get 
rich  by  ruining  poor  devils  such  as  I  am.  I  think,  though, 
that  we  have  some  right  to  be  protected  against  them." 

The  ringing  of  a  bell  here  announced  the  arrival  of 
Borne  traveller,  and  the  hostler  left  me. 

I  learned,  during  the  morning,  that  Matthew  the  bar 
keeper,  and  also  the  son  of  Mr.  Slade,  were  both  con 
siderably  hurt  during  the  affrays  in  the  bar-room,  and 
were  confined,  temporarily,  to  their  beds.  Mrs.  Slade 
still  continued  in  a  distressing  and  dangerous  state. 
Judge  Lyman,  though  shockingly  injured,  was  not 
thought  to  be  in  a  critical  condition. 

A  busy  day  the  sheriff  had  of  it,  making  arrests  of 
various  parties  engaged  in  the  last  night's  affairs.  Even 
Slade,  unable  as  he  was  to  lift  his  head  from  his  pillow, 
was  required  to  give  heavy  bail  for  his  appearace  at 
court.  Happily,  I  escaped  the  inconvenience  of  being 
held  to  appear  as  a  witness,  and  early  in  the  afternoon 
had  the  satisfaction  of  finding  myself  rapidly  borne 
away  in  the  stage-coach.  It  was  two  years  before  I 
entered  the  pleasant  village  of  Cedarville  again. 


17* 


NIGHT   THE   EIGHTH. 


I  WAS  in  Washington  City  during  the  succeeding 
month.  It  was  the  short  or  closing  session  of  a  regular 
Congressional  term.  The  implication  of  Judge  Lyman 
in  the  aflair  of  Green  and  young  Hammond  had  brought 
him  into  such  bad  odour  in  Cedarville,  and  the  whole  dis 
trict  from  which  he  had  been  chosen,  that  his  party 
deemed  it  wise  to  set  him  aside,  and  take  up  a  candidate 
less  likely  to  meet  with  so  strong,  and,  it  might  be,  suc 
cessful  an  opposition.  By  so  doing,  they  were  able  to 
secure  the  election,  once  more,  against  the  growing  tem 
perance  party,  which  succeeded,  however,  in  getting  a 
Maine  Law  man  into  the  State  legislature.  It  was, 
therefore,  Judge  Lyman's  last  winter  at  the  Federal 
Capital. 

While  seated  in  the  reading-room  at  Fuller's  Hotel, 
about  noon,  on  the  day  after  my  arrival  in  Washington, 
I  noticed  an  individual,  whose  face  looked  familiar,  come 
in  and  glance  about,  as  if  in  search  of  some  one.  While 
yet  questioning  in  my  mind  who  he  could  be,  I  heard  a 
man  remark  to  a  person  with  whom  he  had  been  con 
versing  — 

198 


NIGHT   THE   EIGHTH.  199 

"  There's  that  vagabond  member  away  from  his  place 
in  the  House,  again." 

"  Who  ?"  inquired  the  other. 

"  Why,  Judge  Lyman,"  was  answered. 

"Oh!"  said  the  other,  indifferently;  "it  isn't  of 
much  consequence.  Precious  little  wisdom  does  he  add 
to  that  intelligent  body." 

"  His  vote  is  worth  something  at  least,  when  import 
ant  questions  are  at  stake." 

"  What  does  he  charge  for  it  ?"  was  coolly  inquired. 

There  was  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  and  an  arching 
of  the  eyebrows,  but  no  answer. 

"  I'm  in  earnest,  though,  in  the  question,"  said  the 
last  speaker. 

"  Not  in  saying  that  Lyman  will  sell  his  vote  to  the 
highest  bidders?"  ' 

"  That  will  depend  altogether  upon  whom  the  bidders 
may  be.  They  must  be  men  who  have  something  to 
lose  as  well  as  gain — men,  not  at  all  likely  to  bruit  the 
matter,  and  in  serving  whose  personal  interests  no  aban 
donment  of  party  is  required.  Judge  Lyman  is  always 
on  good  terms  with  the  lobby  members,  and  may  be  found 
in  company  with  some  of  them  daily.  Doubtless,  his 
absence  from  the  House,  now,  is  for  the  purpose  of 
a  special  meeting  with  gentlemen  who  are  ready  to 
pay  well  for  votes  in  favour  of  some  bill  making  ap 
propriations  of  public  money  for  private  or  corporate 
benefit." 


200  TEN    NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  You  certainly  cannot  mean  all  you  say  to  be  taken 
in  its  broadest  sense,"  was  replied  to  this. 

"  Yes ;  in  its  very  broadest.  Into  just  this  deep  of 
moral  and  political  degradation  has  this  man  fallen,  dis 
gracing  his  constituents,  and  dishonouring  his  country." 

"  His  presence  at  Washington  doesn't  speak  very 
highly  in  favour  of  the  community  he  represents." 

"  No  ;  still,  as  things  are  now,  we  cannot  judge  of  the 
moral  worth  of  a  community  by  the  men  sent  from  it  to 
Congress.  Representatives  show  merely  the  strength  of 
parties.  The  candidate  chosen  in  party  primary  meetings 
is  not  selected  because  he  is  the  best  man  they  have,  and 
the  one  fittest  to  legislate  wisely  in  national  affairs ;  but 
he  who  happens  to  have  the  strongest  personal  friends 
among  those  who  nominate,  or  who  is  most  likely  to  poll 
the  highest  vote.  This  is  why  we  find,  in  Congress, 
such  a  large  preponderance  of  tenth-rate  men." 

"Men,  such  as  you  represent  Judge  Lyman  to  be, 
•would  sell  his  country  like  another  Arnold." 

"  Yes ;  if  the  bid  were  high  enough." 

"  Does  he  gamble  ?" 

"  Gambling,  I  might  say,  is  a  part  of  his  profession. 
Very  few  nights  pass,  I  am  told,  without  finding  him  at 
the  gaming  table." 

I  heard  no  more.  At  all  this,  I  was  not  in  the  least 
surprised ;  for  my  knowledge  of  the  man's  antecedents 
had  prepared  me  for  allegations  quite  as  bad  as  these. 

During  the  week  I  spent  at  the  Federal  Capital,  I  h: 


NIGHT    THE   EIGHTH.  201 

several  opportunities  of  seeing  Judge  Lyman,  in  the 
House  and  out  of  it, — in  the  House  only  when  the  yeas 
and  nays  were  called  on  some  important  measure,  or 
a  vote  taken  on  a  bill  granting  special  privileges.  In 
the  latter  case,  his  vote,  as  I  noticed,  was  generally  cast 
on  the  affirmative  side.  Several  times  I  saw  him  stag 
gering  on  the  Avenue,  and  once  brought  into  the  House 
for  the  purpose  of  voting,  in  so  drunken  a  state,  that  he 
had  to  be  supported  to  his  seat.  And  even  worse  than 
this — when  his  name  was  called,  he  was  asleep,  and  had 
to  be  shaken  several  times  before  he  was  sufficiently 
aroused  to  give  his  vote ! 

Happily,  for  the  good  of  his  country,  it  was  his  last 
winter  in  Washington.  At  the  next  session,  a  better 
man  took  his  place. 


Two  years  from  the  period  of  my  last  visit  to  Cedar- 
ville,  I  found  myself  approaching  that  quiet  village  again. 
As  the  church-spire  came  in  view,  and  house  after  house 
became  visible,  here  and  there,  standing  out  in  pleasant 
relief  against  the  green  background  of  woods  and  fields, 
all  the  exciting  events  which  rendered  my  last  visit  so 
memorable  came  up  fresh  in  my  mind.  I  was  yet  think 
ing  of  Willy  Hammond's  dreadful  death,  and  of  his 
broken-hearted  mother,  whose  life  went  out  with  his, 
when  the  stage  rolled  by  their  old  homestead.  Oh, 
what  a  change  was  here  !  Neglect,  decay,  and  dilapi- 


202  TEN   NIGHTS   IN  A   BAR-ROOM. 

dation  were  visible,  let  the  eye  fall  where  it  would.  The 
fences  were  down,  here  and  there ;  the  hedges,  once  so 
green  and  nicely  trimmed,  had  grown  rankly  in  some 
places,  hut  were  stunted  and  dying  in  others ;  all  the 
beautiful  walks  were  weedy  and  grass-grown,  and  the 
box-borders  dead ;  the  garden,  rainbow-hued  in  its 
wealth  of  choice  and  beautiful  flowers  when  I  first  saw 
it,  was  lying  waste, — a  rooting-ground  for  hogs.  A 
glance  at  the  house  showed  a  broken  chimney,  the  bricks 
unremoved  from  the  spot  where  they  struck  the  ground ; 
a  moss-grown  roof,  with  a  large  limb  from  a  lightning- 
rent  tree  lying  almost  balanced  over  the  eaves,  and 
threatening  to  fall  at  the  touch  of  the  first  wind-storm 
that  swept  over.  Half  of  the  vines  that  clambered  about 
the  portico  were  dead,  and  the  rest,  untrained,  twined 
themselves  in  wild  disorder,  or  fell  grovelling  to  the 
earth.  One  of  the  pillars  of  the  portico  was  broken,  as 
were,  also,  two  of  the  steps  that  went  up  to  it.  The 
windows  of  the  house  were  closed,  but  the  door  stood 
open,  and,  as  the  stage  went  past,  my  eyes  rested,  for  a 
moment,  upon  an  old  man  seated  in  the  hall.  He  was 
not  near  enough  to  the  door  for  me  to  get  a  view  of  his 
face ;  but  the  white  flowing  hair  left  me  in  no  doubt  as 
to  his  identity.  It  was  Judge  Hammond. 

The  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf"  was  yet  the  stage-house  of 
Cedarville,  and  there,  a  few  minutes  afterward,  I  found 
myself.  The  hand  of  change  had  been  here  also.  The 
first  object  that  attracted  my  attention  was  the  sign-post, 


NIGHT   THE   EIGHTH.  203 

.  which,  at  my  earlier  arrival,  some  eight  or  nine  years 
before,  stood  up  in  its  new  white  garment  of  paint,  as 
straight  as  a  plummet  line,  bearing  proudly  aloft  the 
golden  sheaf  and  gleaming  sickle.  Now,  the  post,  dingy 
and  shattered,  and  worn  from  the  frequent  contact  of 
wheels,  and  gnawing  of  restless  horses,  leaned  from  its 
trim  perpendicular  at  an  angle  of  many  degrees,  as  if 
ashamed  of  the  faded,  weather-worn,  lying  symbol  it 
bore  aloft  in  the  sunshine.  Around  the  post  was  a 
filthy  mud-pool,  in  which  a  hog  lay  grunting  out  its 
sense  of  enjoyment.  Two  or  three  old  empty  whisky 
barrels  lumbered  up  the  dirty  porch,  on  which  a  coarse, 
bloated,  vulgar-looking  man  sat  leaning  against  the  wall — 
his  chair  tipped  back  on  its  hind  legs — squinting  at  me 
from  one  eye,  as  I  left  the  stage  and  came  forward 
toward  the  house. 

"  Ah  !  is  this  you?"  said  he,  as  I  came  near  to  him, 
speaking  thickly,  and  getting  up  with  a  heavy  motion. 
I  now  recognised  the  altered  person  of  Simon  Slade. 
On  looking  at  him  closer,  I  saw  that  the  eye  which  I  had 
thought  only  shut  was  in  fact  destroyed.  How  vividly, 
now,  uprose  in  imagination  the  scenes  I  had  witnessed 
during  my  last  night  in  his  bar-room ;  the  night,  when 
a  brutal  mob,  whom  he  had  inebriated  with  liquor,  came 
near  murdering  him. 

"Glad  to  see  you  once  more,  my  boy!  Glad  to  see 
you  !  I — I — I'm  not  just — you  see.  How  are  you  ? 
.,.  How  are  you?" 


204  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

And  he  shook  my  hand  with  a  drunken  show  of 
cordiality. 

I  felt  shocked  and  disgusted.  Wretched  man  !  down 
the  crumbling  sides  of  the  pit  he  had  digged  for  other 
feet,  he  was  himself  sliding,  while  not  enough  strength 
remained  even  to  struggle  with  his  fate. 

I  tried  for  a  few  minutes  to  talk  with  him  ;  but  his  mind 
was  altogether  beclouded,  and  his  questions  and  answers 
incoherent ;  so  I  left  him,  and  entered  the  bar-room. 

"  Can  I  get  accommodations  here  for  a  couple  of  days?" 
I  inquired  of  a  stupid,  sleepy-looking  man,  who  was  sit 
ting  in  a  chair  behind  the  bar. 

"  I  reckon  so,"  he  answered,  but  did  not  rise. 

I  turned,  and  walked  a  few  paces  toward  the  door, 
and  then  walked  back  again. 

"  I'd  like  to  get  a  room,"  said  I. 

The  man  got  up  slowly,  and  going  to  a  desk,  fumbled 
about  in  it  for  a  while.  At  length  he  brought  out  an 
old,  dilapidated  blank-book,  and  throwing  it  open  on  the 
counter,  asked  me,  with  an  indifferent  manner,  to  write 
down  my  name. 

"  I'll  take  a  pen,  if  you  please." 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  And  he  hunted  about  again  in  the  desk, 
from  which,  after  a  while,  he  brought  forth  the  blackened 
stump  of  a  quill,  and  pushed  it  toward  me  across  the 
counter. 

"  Ink,"  said  I — fixing  my  eyes  upon  him  with  a  look  of 
displeasure. 


THE    EIGHTH.  205 

"I  don't  believe  there  is  any,"  he  muttered.  "Frank," 
and  he  called  the  landlord's  son,  going  to  the  door  behind 
the  bar  as  he  did  so. 

"What  d'ye  want?"  a  rough,  ill-natured  voice  an 
swered. 

"Where's  the  ink?" 

"  Don't  know  any  thing  about  it." 

"  You  had  it  last.     What  did  you  do  with  it  ?" 

"Nothing  !"  was  growled  back. 

"  Well,  I  wish  you'd  find  it." 

"Find  it  yourself,  and "  I  cannot  repeat  the 

profane  language  he  used. 

"Never  mind,"  said  I.  "A  pencil  will  do  just  as 
well."  And  I  drew  one  from  my  pocket.  The  attempt 
to  write  with  this,  on  the  begrimed  and  "greasy  page 
of  the  register,  was  only  partially  successful.  It  would 
have  puzzled  almost  any  one  to  make  out  the  name. 
From  the  date  of  the  last  entry,  it  appeared  that  mine 
was  the  first  arrival,  for  over  a  week,  of  any  person  desir 
ing  a  room. 

As  I  finished  writing  my  name,  Frank  came  stalking 
in,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  a  cloud  of  smoke  around 
his  head.  He  had  grown  into  a  stout  man — though  his 
face  presented  little  that  was  manly,  in  the  true  sense  of 
the  word.  It  was  disgustingly  sensual.  On  seeing  me, 
a  slight  flush  tinged  his  cheeks. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?"  he  said,  offering  me  his  hand. 
"Peter," — he  turned  to  the  lazy-looking  bar-keeper — 

18 


206  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  tell  Jane  to  have  No.  11  put  in  order  for  a  gentleman 
immediately,  and  tell  her  to  be  sure  and  change  the  bed- 
linen." 

"  Things  look  rather  dull  here,"  I  remarked,  as  the 
bar-keeper  went  out  to  do  as  he  had  been  directed. 

"  Kather  ;  it's  a  dull  place,  anyhow." 

"  How  is  your  mother  ?"  I  inquired. 

A  slight,  troubled  look  came  into  his  face,  as  he  an 
swered — 

"  No  better." 

"  She's  sick,  then  ?" 

"  Yes ;  she's  been  sick  a  good  while  ;  and  I'm  afraid 
will  never  be  much  better."  His  manner  was  not  alto 
gether  cold  and  indifferent,  but  there  was  a  want  of  feeling 
in  his  voice.* 

"Is  she  at  home?" 

"No,  sir." 

As  he  showed  no  inclination  to  say  more  on  the  subject, 
I  asked  no  further  questions,  and  he  soon  found  occasion 
to  leave  me. 

The  bar-room  had  undergone  no  material  change,  so 
far  as  its  furniture  and  arrangements  were  concerned ; 
but  a  very  great  change  was  apparent  in  the  condition 
of  these.  The  brass  rod  around  the  bar,  which,  at  my 
last  visit,  was  brightly  polished,  was  now  a  greenish-black, 
and  there  came  from  it  an  unpleasant  odour  of  verdigris. 
The  walls  were  fairly  coated  with  dust,  smoke,  and  fly- 
specks,  and  the  windows  let  in  the  light  but  feebly, 


NIGHT   THE   EIGHTH.  207 

through  the  dirt-obscured  glass.  The  floor  was  filthy. 
Behind  the  bar,  on  the  shelves  designed  for  a  display  of 
liquors,  was  a  confused  mingling  of  empty  or  half- 
filled  decanters,  cigar-boxes,  lemons  and  lemon-peel,  old 
newspapers,  glasses,  a  broken  pitcher,  a  hat,  a  soiled  vest, 
and  a  pair  of  blacking  brushes,  with  other  incongruous 
things,  not  now  remembered.  The  air  of  the  room  was 
loaded  with  offensive  vapours. 

Disgusted  with  every  thing  about  the  bar,  I  went  into 
the  sitting-room.  Here,  there  was  some  order  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  dingy  furniture ;  but  you  might  have 
written  your  name  in  dust  on  the  looking-glass  and  table. 
The  smell  of  the  torpid  atmosphere  was  even  worse  than 
that  of  the  bar-room.  So  I  did  not  linger  here,  but  passed 
through  the  hall,  and  out  upon  the  porch,  to  get  a  draught 
of  pure  air. 

Slade  still  sat  leaning  against  the  wall. 

"  Fine  day  this,"  said  he,  speaking  in  a  mumbling 
kind  of  voice. 

"  Very  fine,"  I  answered. 

"Yes,  very  fine." 

"  Not  doing  so  well  as  you  were  a  few  years  ago," 
said  I. 

"  No — you  see — these — these  'ere  blamed  temperance 
people  are  ruining  every  thing." 

"Ah!     Is  that  so?" 

Yes.  Cedarville  isn't  what  it  was  when  you  first 
came  to  the  Sickle  and  Sheaf.  I — I — you  see.  Curse 


208  TEN   NIGHTS   IN  A   BAR-ROOM. 

the  temperance  people  !  They've  ruined  every  thing, 
you  see.  Every  thing  !  Ruined " 

And  he  muttered,  and  mouthed  his  words  in  such  a 
way,  that  I  could  understand  but  little  he  said ;  and,  in 
that  little,  there  was  scarcely  any  coherency.  So  I  left 
him,  with  a  feeling  of  pity  in  my  heart  for  the  wreck  he 
had  become,  and  went  into  the  town  to  call  upon  one  or 
two  gentlemen  with  whom  I  had  business. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  I  learned  that  Mrs. 
Slade  was  in  an  insane  asylum,  about  five  miles  from 
Cedarville.  The  terrible  events  of  the  day  on  which 
young  Hammond  was  murdered  completed  the  work  of 
mental  ruin,  begun  at  the  time  her  husband  abandoned 
the  quiet,  honourable  calling  of  a  miller,  and  became  a 
tavern-keeper.  Reason  could  hold  its  position  no  longer. 
When  word  came  to  her  that  Willy  and  his  mother  were 
both  dead,  she  uttered  a  wild  shriek  and  fell  down  in  a 
fainting  fit.  From  that  period  the  balance  of  her  mind 
was  destroyed.  Long  before  this,  her  friends  saw  that 
reason  wavered.  Frank  had  been  her  idol.  A  pure, 
bright,  affectionate  boy  he  was,  when  she  removed  with 
him  from  their  pleasant  cottage-home,  where  all  the  sur 
rounding  influences  were  good,  into  a  tavern,  where  an 
angel  could  scarcely  remain  without  corruption.  From 
the  moment  this  change  was  decided  on  by  her  husband, 
a  shadow  fell  upon  her  heart.  She  saw,  before  her  hus 
band,  her  children,  and  herself,  a  yawning  pit,  and  felt 


NIGHT  THE   EIGHTH.  209 

that,  in  a  very  few  years,  all  of  them  must  plunge  down 
into  its  fearful  darkness. 

Alas  !  how  quickly  began  the  realization  of  her  worst 
fears  in  the  corruption  of  her  worshipped  boy !  And 
how  vain  proved  all  effort  and  remonstrance,  looking  to 
his  safety,  whether  made  with  himself  or  his  father ! 
From  the  day  the  tavern  was  opened,  and  Frank  drew 
into  his  lungs  full  draughts  of  the  changed  atmosphere 
by  which  he  was  now  surrounded,  the  work  of  moral  de 
terioration  commenced.  The  very  smell  of  the  liquor 
exhilarated  him  unnaturally ;  while  the  subjects  of  con 
versation,  so  new  to  him,  that  found  discussion  in  the 
bar-room,  soon  came  to  occupy  a  prominent  place  in  his 
imagination,  to  the  exclusion  of  those  humane,  child 
like,  tender,  and  heavenly  thoughts  and  impressions  it 
had  been  the  mother's  care  to  impart  and  awaken. 

Ah  !  with  what  an  eager  zest  does  the  heart  drink  in 
of  evil.  And  how  almost  hopeless  is  the  case  of  a  boy, 
surrounded,  as  Frank  was,  by  the  corrupting,  debasing 
associations  of  a  bar-room!  Had  his  father  meditated 
his  ruin,  he  could  not  have  more  surely  laid  his  plans  for 
the  fearful  consummation;  and  he  reaped  as  he  had 
sown.  With  a  selfish  desire  to  get  gain,  he  embarked  in 
the  trade  of  corruption,  ruin,  and  death,  weakly  believ 
ing  that  he  and  his  could  pass  through  the  fire  harm 
less.  How  sadly  a  few  years  demonstrated  his  error, 
we  have  seen. 

Flora,  I  learned,  was  with  her  mother,  devoting  her 

18* 


210  TEN    NIGHTS    IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

life  to  her.  The  dreadful  death  of  Willy  Hammond, 
for  whom  she  had  conceived  a  strong  attachment,  came 
near  depriving  her  of  reason  also.  Since  the  day  on 
which  that  awful  tragedy  occurred,  she  had  never  even 
looked  upon  her  old  home.  She  went  away  with  her 
unconscious  mother,  and  ever  since  had  remained  with 
her — devoting  her  life  to  her  comfort.  Long  before 
this,  all  her  own  and  mother's  influence  over  her  brother 
had  come  to  an  end.  It  mattered  not  how  she  sought 
to  stay  his  feet,  so  swiftly  moving  along  the  downward 
way,  whether  by  gentle  entreaty,  earnest  remonstrance, 
or  tears ;  in  either  case,  wounds  for  her  own  heart  were 
the  sure  consequences,  while  his  steps  never  lingered  a 
moment.  A  swift  destiny  seemed  hurrying  him  on  to 
ruin.  The  change  in  her  father — once  so  tender,  so 
cheerful  in  his  tone,  so  proud  of  and  loving  toward  his 
daughter — was  another  source  of  deep  grief  to  her  pure 
young  spirit.  Over  him,  as  well  as  over  her  brother,  all 
her  power  was  lost ;  and  he  even  avoided  her,  as  though 
her  presence  were  an  offence  to  him.  And  so,  when  she 
went  out  from  her  unhappy  home,  she  took  with  her  no 
desire  to  return.  Even  when  imagination  bore  her  back 
to  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  she  felt  an  intense,  heart- 
sickening  repulsion  toward  the  place  where  she  had 
first  felt  the  poisoned  arrows  of  life  ;  and  in  the  depths 
of  her  spirit  she  prayed  that  her  eyes  might  never  look 
upon  it  again.  In  her  almost  cloister-like  seclusion,  she 
sought  to  gather  the  mantle  of  oblivion  about  her  heart. 


NIGHT    THE    EIGHTH.  211 

Had  not  her  mother's  condition  made  Flora's  duty  a 
plain  one,  the  true,  unselfish  instincts  of  her  heart 
would  have  doubtless  led  her  back  to  the  polluted  home 
she  had  left,  there,  in  a  kind  of  living  death,  to  minister 
as  best  she  could  to  the  comfort  of  a  debased  father  and 
brother.  But  she  was  spared  that  trial — that  fruitless 
sacrifice. 

Evening  found  me  once  more  in  the  bar-room  of  the 
"  Sickle  and  Sheaf."  The  sleepy,  indifferent  bar-keeper, 
was  now  more  in  his  element — looked  brighter,  and  had 
quicker  motions.  Slade,  who  had  partially  recovered 
from  the  stupefying  effects  of  the  heavy  draughts  of  ale 
with  which  he  washed  down  his  dinner,  was  also  in  a 
better  condition,  though  not  inclined  to  talk.  He  was 
sitting  at  a  table,  alone,  with  his  eyes  wandering  about 
the  room.  Whether  his  thoughts  were  agreeable  or  dis 
agreeable,  it  was  not  easy  to  determine.  Frank  was 
there,  the  centre  of  a  noisy  group  of  coarse  fellows, 
whose  vulgar  sayings  and  profane  expletives  continu 
ally  rung  through  the  room.  The  noisiest,  coarsest,  and 
most  profane  was  Frank  Slade ;  yet  did  not  the  inces 
sant  volume  of  bad  language  that  flowed  from  his  tongue 
appear  in  the  least  to  disturb  his  father. 

Outraged,  at  length,  by  this  disgusting  exhibition, 
that  had  not  even  the  excuse  of  an  exciting  cause,  I 
was  leaving  the  bar-room,  when  I  heard  some  one  re 
mark  to  a  young  man  who  had  just  come  in — 


212  TEN    NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  What !  you  here  again,  Ned  ?  Ain't  you  afraid 
your  old  man  will  be  after  you,  as  usual  ?" 

"No,"  answered  the  person  addressed,  chuckling  in 
wardly,  "he's  gone  to  a  prayer-meeting." 

"  You'll  at  least  have  the  benefit  of  his  prayers,"  was 
lightly  remarked. 

I  turned  to  observe  the  young  man  more  closely.  His 
face  I  remembered,  though  I  could  not  identify  him  at 
first.  But,  when  I  heard  him  addressed  soon  after  as 
Ned  Hargrove,  I  had  a  vivid  recollection  of  a  little  in 
cident  that  occurred  some  years  before,  and  which  then 
made  a  strong  impression.  The  reader  has  hardly  for 
gotten  the  visit  of  Mr.  Hargrove  to  the  bar-room  of  the 
Sickle  and  Sheaf,  and  the  conversation  among  some  of 
its  inmates,  which  his  withdrawal,  in  company  with  his 
son,  then  occasioned.  The  father's  watchfulness  over 
his  boy,  and  his  efforts  to  save  him  from  the  allurements 
and  temptations  of  a  bar-room,  had  proved,  as  now  ap 
peared,  unavailing.  The  son  was  several  years  older ; 
but  it  was  sadly  evident,  from  the  expression  of  his 
face,  that  he  had  been  growing  older  in  evil  faster  than 
in  years. 

The  few  words  that  I  have  mentioned  as  passing  be 
tween  this  young  man  and  another  inmate  of  the  bar 
room,  caused  me  to  turn,  back  from  the  door,  through 
which  I  was  about  passing,  and  take  a  chair  near  to 
where  Hargrove  had  seated  himself.  As  I  did  so,  the 
eyes  of  Simon  Slade  rested  on  the  last-named  individual, 


KIGHT    THE   EIGHTH.  213 

"Ned  Hargrove!"  he  said,  speaking  roughly — "if 
you  want  a  drink,  you'd  better  get  it,  and  mals^  yourself 
scarce." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,"  retorted  the  young  man, 
"  you'll  get  your  money  for  the  drink  in  good  time." 

This  irritated  the  landlord,  who  swore  at  Hargrove 
violently,  and  said  something  about  not  wanting  boys 
about  his  place  who  couldn't  stir  from  home  without 
having  "daddy  or  mammy  running  after  them." 

"  Never  fear !"  cried  out  the  person  who  had  first 
addressed  Hargrove — "  his  old  man's  gone  to  a  prayer- 
meeting.  We  shan't  have  the  light  of  his  pious  counte 
nance  here  to-night." 

I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  the  young  man  to  see  what  effect 
this  coarse  and  irreverent  allusion  to  his  father  would 
have.  A  slight  tinge  of  shame  was  in  his  face ;  but  I 
saw  that  he  had  not  sufficient  moral  courage  to  resent 
the  shameful  desecration  of  a  parent's  name.  How 
should  he,  when  he  was  himself  the  first  to  desecrate 
that  name  ? 

"  If  he  were  forty  fathoms  deep  in  the  infernal  re 
gions,"  answered  Slade,  "  he'd  find  out  that  Ned  was 
wafr  here,  and  get  half  an  hour's  leave  of  absence  to 
come  after  him.  The  fact  is,  I'm  tired  of  seeing  his 
solemn,  sanctimonious  face  here  every  night.  If  the 
boy  hasn't  spirit  enough  to  tell  him  to  mind  his  own  bu 
siness,  as  I  have  done  more  than  fifty  times,  why,  let 
the  boy  stay  away  himself." 


214  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  Why  don't  you  send  him  off  with  a  flea  in  his  ear, 
Ned?"  said  one  of  the  company,  a  young  man  scarcely 
his  own  age.  "  My  old  man  tried  that  game  with  me, 
but  he  soon  found  that  I  could  hold  the  winning  cards." 

"  Just  what  I'm  going  to  do  the  very  next  'time  he 
comes  after  me." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  So  you've  said  twenty  times,"  remarked 
Frank  Slade,  in  a  sneering,  insolent  manner. 

Edward  Hargrove  had  not  the  spirit  to  resent  this ; 
he  only  answered, 

"  Just  let  him  show  himself  here  to-night,  and  you 
will  see." 

"No,  we  won't  see,"  sneered  Frank. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  fun  !"  was  exclaimed.  "I  hope  to 
be  on  hand,  should  it  ever  come  off." 

"  He's  as  'fraid  as  death  of  the  old  chap,"  laughed  a 
sottish  looking  man,  whose  age  ought  to  have  inspired 
him  with  some  respect  for  the  relation  between  father 
and  son,  and  doubtless  would,  had  not  a  long  course  of 
drinking  and  familiarity  with  debasing  associates  blunted 
his  moral  sense. 

"  Now  for  it !"  I  heard  uttered,  in  a  quick,  delighted 
voice.  "  Now  for  fun!  Spunk  up  to  him,  Ned  !  Never 
say  die!" 

I  turned  toward  the  door,  and  there  stood  the  father 
of  Edward  Hargrove.  How  well  I  remembered  the 
broad,  fine  forehead,  the  steady,  yet  mild  eyes,  the  firm 
lips,  the  elevated  superior  bearing  of  the  man  I  had 


NIGHT  THE   EIGHTH.  215 

once  before  seen  in  that  place,  and  on  a  like  errand. 
His  form  was  slightly  bent  now ;  his  hair  was  whiter ; 
his  eyes  farther  back  in  his  head ;  his  face  thinner  and 
marked  with  deeper  lines ;  and  there  was  in  the  whole 
expression  of  his  face  a  touching  sadness.  Yet,  supe 
rior  to  the  marks  of  time  and  suffering,  an  unflinching 
resolution  was  visible  in  his  countenance,  that  gave  to  it 
a  dignity,  and  extorted  involuntary  respect.  He  stood 
still,  after  advancing  a  few  paces,  and  then,  his  search 
ing  eyes  having  discovered  his  son,  he  said  mildly,  yet 
firmly,  and  with  such  a  strength  of  parental  love  in  his 
voice  that  resistance  was  scarcely  possible. 

" Edward!     Edward!     Come,  my  son." 

"  Don't  go."  The  words  were  spoken  in  an  under 
tone,  and  he  who  uttered  them  turned  his  face  away 
from  Mr.  Hargrove,  so  that  the  old  man  could  not  see 
the  motion  of  his  lips.  A  little  while  before,  he  had 
spoken  bravely  against  the  father  of  Edward;  now,  he 
could  not  stand  up  in  his  presence. 

I  looked  at  Edward.  He  did  not  move  from  where 
he  was  sitting,  and  yet  I  saw  that  to  resist  his  father 
cost  him  no  light  struggle. 

"Edward."  There  was  nothing  imperative — nothing 
stern — nothing  commanding  in  the  father's  voice ;  but 
its  great,  its  almost  irresistible  power,  lay  in  its  expres 
sion  of  the  father's  belief  that  his  son  would  instantly 
leave  the  place.  And  it  was  this  power  that  prevailed. 
Edward  arose,  and,  with  eyes  cast  upon  the  floor,  was 


216  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   EAR-ROOM. 

moving  away  from  his  companions,  when  Frank  Slade 
exclaimed, 

"Poor,  weak  fool!" 

It  was  a  lightning  flash  of  indignation,  rather  than  a 
mere  glance  from  the  human  eye,  that  Mr.  Hargrove 
threw  instantly  upon  Frank ;  while  his  fine  form  sprung 
up  erect.  He  did  not  speak,  but  merely  transfixed  him 
with  a  look.  Frank  curled  his  lip  impotently,  as  he 
tried  to  return  the  old  man's  withering  glances. 

"Now  look  here!"  said  Simon  Slade,  in  some  wrath, 
"  there's  been  just  about  enough  of  this.  I'm  getting 
tired  of  it.  Why  don't  you  keep  Ned  at  home  ?  No 
body  wants  him  here." 

"Refuse  to  sell  him  liquor,"  returned  Mr.  Hargrove. 

"It's  my  trade  to  sell  liquor,"  answered  Slade,  boldly. 

"I  wish  you  had  a  more  honourable  calling,"  said 
Hargrove,  almost  mournfully. 

"  If  you  insult  my  father,  I'll  strike  you  down !" 
exclaimed  Frank  Slade,  starting  up  and  assuming  a 
threatening  aspect. 

"I  respect  filial  devotion,  meet  it  where  I  will," 
calmly  replied  Mr.  Hargrove, — "  I  only  wish  it  had  a 
better  foundation  in  this  case.  I  only  wish  the  father 
had  merited " 

I  will  not  stain  my  page  with  the  fearful  oath  that 
Frank  Slade  yelled,  rather  than  uttered,  as,  with  clench 
ed  fist,  he  sprung  toward  Mr.  Hargrove.  But  ere  he 
had  reached  the  unruffled  old  man — who  stood  looking 


NIGHT  THE   EIGHTH.  217 

at  him  as  one  would  look  into  the  eyes  of  a  wild  beast, 
confident  that  he  could  not  stand  the  gaze — a  firm  hand 
grasped  his  arm,  and  a  rough  voice  said — 

"  Avast  there,  young  man  !  Touch  a  hair  of  that 
white  head,  and  I'll  wring  your  neck  off." 

"Lyon!"  As  Frank  uttered  the  man's  name,  he 
raised  his  fist  to  strike  him.  A  moment  the  clenched 
hand  remained  poised  in  the  air  ;  then  it  fell  slowly  to 
his  side,  and  he  contented  himself  with  an  oath  and  a 
vile  epithet. 

"  You  can  swear  to  your  heart's  content.  It  will  do 
nobody  any  harm  but  yourself,"  coolly  replied  Mr.  Lyon, 
whom  I  now  recognised  as  the  person  with  whom  I  had 
held  several  conversations  during  previous  visits. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Lyon,"  said  Mr.  Hargrove,  "for 
this  manly  interference.  It  is  no  more  than  I  should 
have  expected  from  you." 

"I  never  suffer  a  young  man  to  strike  an  old  man," 
said  Lyon,  firmly.  "Apart  from  that,  Mr. 'Hargrove, 
there  are  other  reasons  why  your  person  must  be  free 
from  violence  where  I  am." 

"This  is  a  bad  place  for  you,  Lyon,"  said  Mr.  Har 
grove  ;  "  and  I've  said  so  to  you  a  good  many  times." 
He  spoke  in  rather  an  under  tone.  "  Why  will  you 
come  here  ?" 

"It's  a  bad  place,  I  know,"  replied  Lyon,  speaking 
out  boldly,  "  and  we  all  know  it.  But  habit,  Mr.  Har 
grove — habit.  That's  the  cursed  thing!  If  the  bar- 

19 


218  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

rooms  were  all  shut  up,  there  would  be  another  story  to 
tell.  Get  us  the  Maine  law,  and  there  will  be  some 
chance  for  us." 

"  Why  don't  you  vote  the  temperance  ticket?"  asked 
Mr.  Hargrove. 

"Why  did  I?  you'd  better  ask,"  said  Lyon. 

"  I  thought  you  voted  against  us." 

"  Not  I.  Ain't  quite  so  blind  to  my  own  interests  as 
that.  And,  if  the  truth  were  known,  I  should  not  at  all 
wonder  if  every  man  in  this  room,  except  Slade  and  his 
son,  voted  on  your  side  of  the  house." 

"  It's  a  little  strange,  then,"  said  Mr.  Hargrove,  "  that 
with  the  drinking  men  on  our  side,  we  failed  to  secure 
the  election." 

"  You  must  blame  that  on  your  moderate  men,  who 
see  no  danger  and  go  blind  with  their  party,"  answered 
Lyon.  "  We  have  looked  the  evil  in  the  face,  and  know 
its  direful  quality." 

"  Come  !  I  would  like  to  talk  with  you,  Mr.  Lyon." 

Mr.  Hargrove,  his  son,  and  Mr.  Lyon  went  out  to 
gether.  As  they  left  the  room,  Frank  Slade  said — 

"What  a  cursed  liar  and  hypocrite  he  is !" 

"  Who  ?"  was  asked. 

"Why,  Lyon,"  answered  Frank,  boldly. 

"You'd  better  say  that  to  his  face." 

"It  wouldn't  be  good  for  him,"  remarked  one  of  the 
company. 

At  this  Frank  started  to  his  feet,  stalked  about  the 


NIGHT   THE    EIGHTH.  219 

room,  and  put  on  all  the  disgusting  airs  of  a  drunken 
braggart.  Even  his  father  saw  the  ridiculous  figure  he 
cut,  and  growled  out — 

"  There,  Frank,  that'll  do.  Don't  make  a  miserable 
fool  of  yourself!" 

At  which  Frank  retorted,  with  so  much  of  insolence 
that  his  father  flew  into  a  towering  passion,  and  ordered 
him  to  leave  the  bar-room. 

"  You  can  go  out  yourself  if  you  don't  like  the  com 
pany.  I'm  very  well  satisfied,"  answered  Frank. 

"Leave  this  room,  you  impudent  young  scoun 
drel  !" 

"  Can't  go,  my  amiable  friend,"  said  Frank,  with  a 
cool  self-possession  that  maddened  his  father,  who  got 
up  hastily,  and  moved  across  the  bar-room  to  the  place 
where  he  was  standing. 

"Go  out,  I  tell  you !"     Slade  spoke  resolutely. 

"  Would  be  happy  to  oblige  you,"  Frank  said,  in  a 
taunting  voice ;  "  but,  'pon  my  word,  it  isn't  at  all  conve 
nient." 

Half  intoxicated  as  he  was,  and  already  nearly  blind 
with  passion,  Slade  lifted  his  hand  to  strike  his  son. 
And  the  blow  would  have  fallen  had  not  some  one 
caught  his  arm,  and  held  him  back  from  the  meditated 
violence.  Even  the  debased  visitors  of  this  bar-room 
could  not  stand  by  and  see  nature  outraged  in  a  bloody 
strife  between  father  and  son ;  for  it  was  plain  from  the 
face  and  quickly  assumed  attitude  of  Frank,  that  if  his 


220  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

father  had  laid  his  hand  upon  him,  he  would  have  struck 
him  in  return. 

I  could  not  remain  to  hear  the  awful  imprecations 
that  father  and  son,  in  their  impotent  rage,  called  down 
from  heaven  upon  each  other's  heads.  It  was  the  most 
shocking  exhibition  of  depraved  human  nature  that  I 
had  ever  seen.  And  so  I  left  the  bar-room,  glad  to 
escape  from  its  stifling  atmosphere  and  revolting  scenes. 


NIGHT   THE   NINTH. 

JJ.  Jtarfal  Consummation. 

NEITHER  Slade  nor  his  son  was  present  at  the  break 
fast  table  on  the  next  morning.  As  for  myself,  I  did 
not  eat  with  much  appetite.  Whether  this  defect  arose 
from  the  state  of  my  mind,  or  the  state  of  the  food 
set  before  me,  I  did  not  stop  to  inquire ;  but  left  the 
stifling,  offensive  atmosphere  of  the  dining-room  in  a 
very  few  moments  after  entering  that  usually  attractive 
place  for  a  hungry  man. 

A  few  early  drinkers  were  already  in  the  bar-room — 
men  with  shattered  nerves  and  cadaverous  faces,  who 
could  not  begin  the  day's  work  without  the  stimulus  of 
brandy  or  whisky.  They  came  in,  with  gliding  foot 
steps,  asked  for  what  they  wanted  in  low  voices,  drank 
in  silence,  and  departed.  It  was  a  melancholy  sight  to 
look  upon. 

About  nine  o'clock  the  landlord  made  his  appearance. 
He,  too,  came  gliding  into  the  bar-room,  and  his  first 
act  was  to  seize  upon  a  brandy  decanter,  pour  out  nearly 
half  a  pint  of  the  fiery  liquid,  and  drink  it  off.  How 
badly  his  hand  shook — so  badly  that  he  spilled  the 
brandy  both  in  pouring  it  out,  and  in  lifting  the  glass  to 

iu*  221 


222  TEN   NIGHTS   IN  A   BAR-ROOM. 

his  lips !  What  a  shattered  wreck  he  was  !  He  looked 
really  worse  now  than  he  did  on  the  day  before,  when 
drink  gave  an  artificial  vitality  to  his  system,  a  tension 
to  his  muscles,  and  light  to  his  countenance.  The 
miller  of  ten  years  ago,  and  the  tavern-keeper  of  to-day ! 
Who  could  have  identified  them  as  one  ? 

Slade  was  turning  from  the  bar,  when  a  man  came  in. 
I  noticed  an  instant  change  in  the  landlord's  counte 
nance.  He  looked  startled;  almost  frightened.  The 
man  drew  a  small  package  from  his  pocket,  and  after 
selecting  a  paper  therefrom,  presented  it  to  Slade,  who 
received  it  with  a  nervous  reluctance,  opened,  and  let 
his  eye  fall  upon  the  writing  within.  I  was  observing 
him  closely  at  the  time,  and  saw  his  countenance  flush 
deeply.  In  a  moment  or  two  it  became  pale  again — 
paler  even  than  before. 

"Very  well— all  right.  I'll  attend  to  it,"  said  the 
landlord,  trying  to  recover  himself,  yet  swallowing  with 
every  sentence. 

The  man,  who  was  no  other  than  a  sheriff's  deputy, 
and  who  gave  him  a  sober,  professional  look,  then 
went  out  with  a  firm  step,  and  an  air  of  importance. 
As  he  passed  through  the  outer  door,  Slade  retired  from 
the  bar-room. 

"  Trouble  coming,"  I  heard  the  bar-keeper  remark, 
speaking  partly  to  himself,  and  partly  with  the  view,  as 
was  evident  from  his  manner,  of  leading  me  to  question 
him.  But  this  I  did  not  feel  that  it  was  right  to  do. 


NIGHT   THE   NINTH.  223 

"Got  the  sheriff  on  him  at  last,"  added  the  bar 
keeper. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Bill  ?"  inquired  a  man  who  now 
came  in  with  a  bustling,  important  air,  and  leaned 
familiarly  over  the  bar.  "  Who  was  Jenkins  after  ?" 

"The  old  man,"  replied  the  bar-keeper,  in  a  voice 
that  showed  pleasure  rather  than  regret.  .  "- 

"No!" 

"It's  a  fact."     Bill,  the  bar-keeper,  actually  smiled. 

"  What's  to  pay  ?"  said  the  man. 

"  Don't  know,  and  don't  care  much." 

"  Did  he  serve  a  summons  or  an  execution  ?" 

«  Can't  tell." 

"  Judge  Lyman's  suit  went  against  him." 

"Did  it?" 

"  Yes ;  and  I  heard  Judge  Lyman  swear,  that  if  he 
got  him  on  the  hip,  he'd  sell  him  out,  bag  and  basket. 
And  he's  the  man  to  keep  his  word." 

"I  never  could  just  make  out,"  said  the  bar-keeper, 
"  how  he  ever  came  to  owe  Judge  Lyman  so  much.  I've 
never  known  of  any  business  transactions  between 
them." 

"It's  been  dog  eat  dog,  I  rather  guess,"  said  the 
man. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  inquired  the  bar 
keeper. 

"You've  heard  of  dogs  hunting  in  pairs  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes." 


224  TEN    NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  Well,  since  Harvey  Green  got  his  deserts,  the  busi 
ness  of  fleecing  our  silly  young  fellows,  who  happened 
to  have  more  money  than  wit  or  discretion,  has  been  in 
the  hands  of  Judge  Lyman  and  Slade.  They  hunted 
together,  Slade  holding  the  game, .  while  the  Judge 
acted  as  blood-sucker.  But  that  business  was  inter 
rupted  about  a  year  ago ;  and  game  got  so  scarce,  that, 
as  I  suggested,  dog  began  to  eat  dog.  And  here  comes 
the  end  of  the  matter,  if  I'm  not  mistaken.  So  mix  us 
a  stiff  toddy.  I  want  one  more  good  drink  at  the 
4  Sickle  and  Sheaf,'  before  the  colours  are  struck." 

And  the  man  chuckled  at  his  witty  effort. 

During  the  day,  I  learned  that  affairs  stood  pretty 
much  as  this  man  had  conjectured.  Lyman's  suits  had 
been  on  sundry  notes,  payable  on  demand;  but  nobody 
knew  of  any  property  transactions  between  him  and 
Slade.  On  the  part  of  Slade,  no  defence  had  been 
made — the  suit  going  by  default.  The  visit  of  the 
sheriffs  officer  was  for  the  purpose  of  serving  an  execu 
tion. 

As  I  walked  through  Cedarville  on  that  day,  the 
whole  aspect  of  the  place  seemed  changed.  I  questioned 
with  myself,  often,  whether  this  were  really  so,  or  only 
the  effect  of  imagination.  The  change  was  from  cheer 
fulness  and  thrift,  to  gloom  and  neglect.  There  was,  to 
me,  a  brooding  silence  in  the  air ;  a  pause  in  the  life- 
movement;  a  folding  of  the  hands,  so  to  speak,  because 
hope  had  failed  from  the  heart.  The  residence  of  Mr. 


NIGHT   THE .  NINTH;  225 

Harrison,  who,  some  two  years  before,  had  suddenly 
awakened  to  a  lively  sense  of  the  evil  of  rum-selling, 
because  his  own  sons  were  discovered-  to  be  in  danger, 
had  been  one  of  the  most  tasteful  in  Cedarville.  1  had 
often  stopped  to  admire  the  beautiful  shrubbery  and 
flowers  with  which  it  was  surrounded ;  the  walks  so  clear 
— the  borders  so  fresh  and  even — the  arbours  so  cool 
and  inviting.  There  was  not  a  spot  upon  which  the  eye 
could  rest,  that  did  not  show  the  hand  of  taste.  When 
I  now  came  opposite  to  this  house,  I  was  no  longer  in 
doubt  as  to  the  actuality  of  a  change.  There  were  no 
marked  evidences  of  neglect ;  but  the  high  cultivation 
and  nice  regard  for  the  small  details  were  lacking. 
The  walks  were  cleanly  swept ;  but  the  box-borders  were 
not  so  carefully  trimmed.  The  vines  and  bushes  that 
in  former  times  were  cut  and  tied  so  evenly,  could  hardly 
have  felt  the  keen  touch  of  the  pruning-knife  for 
months. 

As  I  paused  to  note  the  change,  a  lady,  somewhat 
beyond  the  middle  age,  came  from  the  house.  I  was 
struck  by  the  deep  gloom  that  overshadowed  her  coun 
tenance.  Ah!  said  I  to  myself,  as  I  passed  on,  how 
many  dear  hopes,  that  once  lived  in  that  heart,  must 
have  been  scattered  to  the  winds.  As  I  conjectured, 
this  was  Mrs.  Harrison,  and  I  was  not  unprepared  to 
hear,  as  I  did  a  few  hours  afterward,  that  her  two  sons 
had  fallen  into  drinking  habits ;  and,  not  only  this,  had 
been  enticed  to  the  gaming  table.  Unhappy  mother ! 


226  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

What  a  lifetime  of  wretchedness  was  compressed  for 
thee  into  a  few  short  years ! 

I  walked  on,  noting,  here  and  there,  changes  even 
more  marked  than  appeared  about  the  residence  of  Mr. 
Harrison.  Judge  Lyman's  beautiful  place  showed  utter 
neglect;  and  so  did  one  or  two  others  that,  on  my  first 
visit  to  Cedarville,  charmed  me  with  their  order,  neat 
ness,  and  cultivation.  In  every  instance,  I  learned,  on 
inquiring,  that  the  owners  of  these,  or  some  members 
of  their  families,  were,  or  had  been,  visitors  at  the 
"Sickle  and  Sheaf;"  and  that  the  ruin,  in  progress  or 
completed,  began  after  the  establishment  of  that  point 
of  attraction  in  the  village. 

Something  of  a  morbid  curiosity,  excited  by  what  I 
saw,  led  me  on  to  take  a  closer  view  of  the  residence  of 
Judge  Hammond  than  I  had  obtained  on  the  day  be 
fore.  The  first  thing  that  I  noticed,  on  approaching 
the  old,  decaying  mansion,  were  handbills,  posted  on  the 
gate,  the  front  door,  and  on  one  of  the  windows.  A 
nearer  inspection  revealed  their  import.  The  property 
had  been  seized,  and  was  now  offered  at  sheriff's  sale  ! 

Ten  years  before,  Judge  Hammond  was  known  as  the 
richest  man  in  Cedarville:  and  now,  the  homestead  he 
had  once  so  loved  to  beautify — where  all  that  was  dear 
est  to  him  in  life  once  gathered — worn,  disfigured,  and 
in  ruins,  was  about  being  wrested  from  him.  I  paused 
at  the  gate,  and  leaning  over  it,  looked  in  with  saddened 
feelings  upon  the  dreary  waste  within.  No  sign  of  life 


NIGHT   THE   NINTH.  227 

was  visible.  The  door  was  shut — the  windows  closed — 
not  the  faintest  wreath  of  smoke  was  seen  above  the 
blackened  chimney-tops.  How  vividly  did  imagination 
restore  the  life,  and  beauty,  and  happiness,  that  made 
their  home  there  only  a  few  years  before, — the  mother 
and  her  noble  boy,  one  looking  with  trembling  hope, 
the  other  with  joyous  confidence,  into  the  future, — 
the  father,  proud  of  his  household  treasures,  but  not 
their  wise  and  jealous  guardian. 

Ah !  that  his  hands  should  have  unbarred  the  door, 
and  thrown  it  wide,  for  the  wolf  to  enter  that  precious 
fold !  I  saw  them  all  in  their  sunny  life  before  me ; 
yet,  even  as  I  looked  upon  them,  their  sky  began  to 
darken.  I  heard  the  distant  mutterings  of  the  storm, 
and  soon  the  desolating  tempest  swept  down  fearfully 
upon  them.  I  shuddered  as  it  passed  away,  to  look 
upon  the  wrecks  left  scattered  around.  What  a 
change ! 

"  And  all  this,"  said  I,  "  that  one  man,  tired  of  being 
useful,  and  eager  to  get  gain,  might  gather  in  accursed 
gold!" 

Pushing  open  the  gate,  I  entered  the  yard,  and 
walked  around  the  dwelling,  my  footsteps  echoing  in  the 
hushed  solitude  of  the  deserted  place.  Hark !  was  that 
a  human  voice  ? 

I  paused  to  listen. 

The  sound  came,  once  more,  distinctly  to  my  ears.  I 
looked  around,  above,  everywhere,  but  perceived  no 


228  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

living  sign.  For  nearly  a  minute  I  stood  still,  listening. 
Yes :  there  it  was  again — a  low,  moaning  voice,  as  of 
one  in  pain  or  grief.  I  stepped  onward  a  few  paces ; 
and  now  saw  one  of  the  doors  standing  ajar.  As  I 
pushed  this  door  wide  open,  the  moan  was  repeated. 
Following  the  direction  from  which  the  sound  came,  I 
entered  one  of  the  large  drawing-rooms.  The  atmo 
sphere  was  stifling,  and  all  as  dark  as  if  it  were  mid 
night.  Groping  my  way  to  a  window,  I  drew  back  the 
bolt  and  threw  open  a  shutter.  Broadly  the  light  fell 
across  the  dusty,  uncarpeted  floor,  and  on  the  dingy 
furniture  of  the  room.  As  it  did  so,  the  moaning  voice 
which  had  drawn  me  thither  swelled  on  the  air  again ; 
and  now  I  saw,  lying  upon  an  old  sofa,  the  form  of  a 
man.  It  needed  no  second  glance  to  tell  me  that  this 
was  Judge  Hammond.  I  put  my  hand  upon  him,  and 
uttered  his  name :  but  he  answered  not.  I  spoke  more 
firmly,  and  slightly  shook  him ;  but  only  a  piteous  moan 
was  returned. 

"Judge  Hammond!"  I  now  called  aloud,  and  some 
what  imperatively. 

But  it  availed  nothing.  The  poor  old  man  aroused 
not  from  the  stupor  in  which  mind  and  body  were  en 
shrouded. 

"He  is  dying!"  thought  I;  and  instantly  left  the 
house  in  search  of  some  friends  to  take  charge  of  him  in 
his  last,  sad  extremity.  The  first  person  to  whom  I 
made  known  the  fact  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said 


NIGHT    THE    NINTH.  229 

it  was  no  affair  of  his,  and  that  I  must  find  somebody 
•whose  business  it  was  to  attend  to  him.  My  next  appli 
cation  was  met  in  the  same  spirit ;  and  no  better  success 
attended  my  reference  of  the  matter  to  a  third  party. 
No  one  to  whom  I  spoke  seemed  to  have  any  sympathy 
for  the  broken-down  old  man.  Shocked  by  this  indiffer 
ence,  I  went  to  one  of  the  county  officers,  who,  on  learn 
ing  the  condition  of  Judge  Hammond,  took  immediate 
steps  to  have  him  removed  to  the  Alms-house,  some 
miles  distant. 

"But  why  to  the  Alms-house  ?"  I  inquired,  on  learn 
ing  his  purpose.  "  He  has  property." 

"Every  thing  has  been  seized  for  debt,"  was  the  reply. 

"Will  there  be  nothing  left  after  his  creditors  are 
satisfied?" 

"Very  few,  if  any,  will  be  satisfied,"  he  answered. 
"  There  will  not  be  enough  to  pay  half  the  judgments 
against  him." 

"And  is  there  no  friend  to  take  him  in, — no  one,  of 
all  who  moved  by  his  side  in  the  days  of  prosperity,  to 
give  a  few  hours'  shelter,  and  soothe  the  last  moments 
of  his  unhappy  life  ?" 

"Why  did  you  make  application  here?" was  the  offi 
cer's  significant  question. 

I  was  silent. 

"  Your  earnest  appeals  for  the  poor  old  man  met  with 
no  words  of  sympathy?" 

"None." 

20 


230  TEN    NIGHTS   IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

"  He  has,  indeed,  fallen  low.  In  the  days  of  his 
prosperity,  he  had  many  friends,  so  called.  Adversity 
has  shaken  them  all  like  dead  leaves  from  sapless 
branches." 

"But  why?     This  is  not  always  so." 

"Judge  Hammond  was  a  selfish,  worldly  man.  Peo 
ple  never  liked  him  much.  His  favouring,  so  strongly, 
the  tavern  of  Slade,  and  his  distillery  operations,  turned 
from  him  some  of  his  best  friends.  The  corruption  and 
terrible  fate  of  his  son — and  the  insanity  and  death  of 
his  wife — all  were  charged  upon  him  in  people's  minds ; 
and  every  one  seemed  to  turn  from  him  instinctively 
after  the  fearful  tragedy  was  completed.  He  never  held 
up  his  head  afterward.  Neighbours  shunned  him  as 
they  would  a  criminal.  And  here  has  come  the  end  at 
last.  He  will  be  taken  to  the  Poor-house,  to  die  there — 
a  pauper !" 

"And  all,"  said  I,  partly  speaking  to  myself,  "  because 
a  man,  too  lazy  to  work  at  an  honest  calling,  must  needs 
go  to  rum-selling." 

"The  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the 
truth,"  remarked  the  officer  with  emphasis,  as  he  turned 
from  me  to  see  that  his  directions  touching  the  removal 
of  Mr.  Hammond  to  the  Poor-house  were  promptly 
executed. 

In  my  wanderings  about  Cedarville  during  that  day, 
I  noticed  a  small,  but  very  neat  cottage,  a  little  way  from 
the  centre  of  the  village.  There  was  not  around  it  a 


NIGHT   THE   NINTH.  231 

great  profusion  of  flowers  and  shrubbery ;  but  the  few 
vines,  flowers,  and  bushes  that  grew  green  and  flourishing 
about  the  door,  and  along  the  clean  walks,  added  to  the 
air  of  taste  and  comfort  that  so  peculiarly  marked  the 
dwelling. 

"  Who  lives  in  that  pleasant  little  spot?"  I  asked  of 
a  man  whom  I  had  frequently  seen  in  Slade's  bar-room. 
He  happened  to  be  passing  the  house  at  the  same  time 
that  I  was. 

"  Joe  Morgan,"  was  answered. 

"  Indeed  !"  I  spoke  in  some  surprise.  "And  what  of 
Morgan  ?  How  is  he  doing?" 

"  Very  well." 

"Doesn't  he  drink?" 

"  No.  Since  the  death  of  his  child,  he  has  never 
taken  a  drop.  That  event  sobered  him,  and  he  has 
remained  sober  ever  since." 

"What  is  he  doing?" 

"Working  at  his  old  trade." 

"  That  of  a  miller  ?" 

"Yes.  After  Judge  Hammond  broke  down,  the  dis 
tillery  apparatus  and  cotton  spinning  machinery  were  all 
sold  and  removed  from  Cedarville.  The  purchaser  of 
what  remained,  having  something  of  the  fear  of  God, 
as  well  as  regard  for  man,  in  his  heart,  set  himself  to 
the  restoration  of  the  old  order  of  things,  and  in  due  time 
the  revolving  mill-wheel  was  at  its  old  and  better  work 
of  grinding  corn  and  wheat  for  bread.  The  only  two 


232  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

men  in  Cedarville  competent  to  take  charge  of  the  mill 
were  Simon  Slade  and  Joe  Morgan.  The  first  could  not 
be  had,  and  the  second  came  in  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"  And  he  remains  sober  and  industrious  ?" 

"As  any  man  in  the  village,"  was  the  answer. 

I  saw  but  little  of  Slade  or  his  son  during  the  day. 
But  both  were  in  the  bar-room  at  night,  and  both  in  a 
condition  sorrowful  to  look  upon.  Their  presence, 
together,  in  the  bar-room,  half  intoxicated  as  they  were, 
seemed  to  revive  the  unhappy  temper  of  the  previous 
evening,  as  freshly  as  if  the  sun  had  not  risen  and  set 
upon  their  anger. 

During  the  early  part  of  the  evening,  considerable 
company  was  present,  though  not  of  a  very  select  class. 
A  large  proportion  were  young  men.  To  most  of  them 
the  fact  that  Slade  had  fallen  into  the  sheriff's  hands  was 
known ;  and  I  gathered  from  some  aside  conversation 
which  reached  my  ears,  that  Frank's  idle,  spendthrift 
habits  had  hastened  the  present  crisis  in  his  father's 
affairs.  He,  too,  was  in  debt  to  Judge  Lyman — on  what 
account,  it  was  not  hard  to  infer. 

It  was  after  nine  o'clock,  and  there  was  not  half  a 
dozen  persons  in  the  room,  when  I  noticed  Frank  Slade 
go  behind  the  bar  for  the  third  or  fourth  time.  He  was 
just  lifting  a  decanter  of  brandy,  when  his  father,  who 
was  considerably  under  the  influence  of  drink,  started 
forward,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  that  of  his  son.  Instantly 
a  fierce  light  gleamed  from  the  eyes  of  the  young  man. 


NIGHT    THE   NINTH.  233 

"Let  go  of  my  hand,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  No,  I  won't.  Put  up  that  brandy  bottle, — you're 
drunk  now." 

"  Don't  meddle  with  me,  old  man !"  angrily  retorted 
Frank.  "  I'm  not  in  the  mood  to  bear  any  thing  more 
from  you." 

"  You're  drunk  as  a  fool  now,"  returned  Slade,  who 
had  seized  the  decanter.  "  Let  go  the  bottle." 

For  only  an  instant  did  the  young  man  hesitate.  Then 
he  drove  his  half-clenched  hand  against  the  breast  of  his 
father,  who  went  staggering  away  several  paces  from  the 
counter.  Recovering  himself,  and  now  almost  furious, 
the  landlord  rushed  forward  upon  his  son,  his  hand  raised 
to  strike  him. 

"Keep  off!"  cried  Frank.  "Keep  off!  If  you  touch 
me,  I'll  strike  you  down  !"  At  the  same  time  raising 
the  half-filled  bottle  threateningly. 

But  his  father  was  in  too  maddened  a  state  to  fear 
any  consequences,  and  so  pressed  forward  upon  his  son, 
striking  him  in  the  face  the  moment  he  came  near  enough 
to  do  so. 

Instantly,  the  young  man,  infuriated  by  drink  and 
evil  passions,  threw  the  bottle  at  his  father's  head.  The 
dangerous  missile  fell,  crashing  upon  one  of  his  temples, 
shivering  it  into  a  hundred  pieces.  A  heavy,  jarring 
fall  too  surely  marked  the  fearful  consequences  of  the 
blow.  When  we  gathered  around  the  fallen  man,  and 
made  an  effort  to  lift  him  from  the  floor,  a  thrill  of  horror 

20* 


234  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

went  through  every  heart.  A  mortal  paleness  was 
already  on  his  marred  face,  and  the  death-gurgle  in  his 
throat !  In  three  minutes  from  the  time  the  blow  was 
struck,  his  spirit  had  gone  upward  to  give  an  account  of 
the  deeds  done  in  the  body. 

"  Frank  Slade  !  you  have  murdered  your  father  !" 

Sternly  were  these  terrible  words  uttered.  It  was 
some  time  before  the  young  man  seemed  to  comprehend 
their  meaning.  But  the  moment  he  realized  the  awful 
truth,  he  uttered  an  exclamation  of  horror.  Almost  at 
the  same  instant,  a  pistol-shot  came  sharply  on  the  ear. 
But  the  meditated  self-destruction  was  not  accomplished. 
The  aim  was  not  surely  taken;  and  the  ball  struck 
harmlessly  against  the  ceiling. 

Half  an  hour  afterward,  and  Frank  Slade  was  a  lonely 
prisoner  in  the  county  jail ! 

Does  the  reader  need  a  word  of  comment  on  this  fear 
ful  consummation  ?  No :  and  we  will  offer  none. 


NIGHT   THE    TENTH. 

Closing  oStene  at  i\t  "$khie  anb 


ON  the  day  that  succeeded  the  evening  of  this  fearful 
tragedy,  placards  were  to  be  seen  all  over  the  village, 
announcing  a  mass  meeting  at  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf 
that  night. 

By  early  twilight,  the  people  commenced  assembling. 
The  bar,  which  had  been  closed  all  day,  was  now  thrown 
open,  and  lighted  ;  and  in  this  room,  where  so  much  of 
evil  had  been  originated,  encouraged,  and  consummated, 
a  crowd  of  earnest-looking  men  were  soon  gathered. 
Among  them  I  saw  the  fine  person  of  Mr.  Hargrove. 
Joe  Morgan  —  or  rather  Mr.  Morgan  —  was  also  of  the 
number.  The  latter  I  would  scarcely  have  recognised, 
had  not  some  one  near  me  called  him  by  name.  He  was 
well  dressed,  stood  erect,  and,  though  there  were  many 
deep  lines  on  his  thoughtful  countenance,  all  traces  of 
his  former  habits  were  gone.  While  I  was  observing 
him,  he  arose,  and  addressing  a  few  words  to  the  assem 
blage,  nominated  Mr.  Hargrove  as  chairman  of  the 
meeting.  To  this  a  unanimous  assent  was  given. 

On  taking  the  chair,  Mr.  Hargrove  made  a  brief 
address,  something  to  this  effect. 

235 


236  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

"Ten  years  ago,"  said  he,  his  voice  evincing  a  slight 
unsteadiness  as  he  began,  but  growing  firmer  as  he  pro 
ceeded,  "  there  was  not  a  happier  spot  in  Bolton  county 
than  Cedarville.  Now,  the  marks  of  ruin  are  every 
where.  Ten  years  ago,  there  was  a  kind-hearted,  indus 
trious  miller  in  Cedarville,  liked  by  every  one,  and  as 
harmless  as  a  little  child.  Now,  his  bloated,  disfigured 
body  lies  in  that  room.  His  death  was  violent,  and  by 
the  hand  of  his  own  son !" 

Mr.  Hargrove's  words  fell  slowly,  distinctly,  and 
marked  by  the  most  forcible  emphasis.  There  was 
scarcely  one  present  who  did  not  feel  a  low  shudder 
run  along  his  nerves,  as  the  last  words  were  spoken  in  a 
husky  whisper. 

"  Ten  years  ago,"  he  proceeded,  "  the  miller  had  a 
happy  wife,  and  two  innocent,  glad-hearted  children. 
Now,  his  wife,  bereft  of  reason,  is  in  a  mad-house,  and 
his  son  the  occupant  of  a  felon's  cell,  charged  with  the 
awful  crime  of  parricide  !" 

Briefly  he  paused,  while  his  audience  stood  gazing 
upon  him  with  half  suspended  respiration. 

"Ten  years  ago,"  he  went  on,  "Judge  Hammond 
was  accounted  the  richest  man  in  Cedarville.  Yesterday 
he  was  carried,  a  friendless  pauper,  to  the  Almshouse ; 
and  to-day  he  is  the  unmourned  occupant  of  a  pauper's 
grave  !  Ten  years  agoj  his  wife  was  the  proud,  hopeful, 
loving  mother  of  a  most  promising  son.  I  need  not  de 
scribe  what  Willy  Hammond  was.  All  here  knew  him 


NIGHT  THE   TENTH.  237 

\vcll.  Ah!  what  shattered  the  fine  intellect  of  that 
noble-minded  woman?  Why  did  her  heart  break? 
Where  is  she  ?  Where  is  Willy  Hammond  ?" 

A  low,  half  repressed  groan  answered  the  speaker, 

"  Ten  years  ago,  you,  sir,"  pointing  to  a  sad-looking 
old  man,  and  calling  him  by  name,  "had  two  sons — 
generous,  promising,  manly-hearted  boys.  What  are 
they  now?  You  need  not  answer  the  question.  Too 
well  is  their  history  and  your  sorrow  known.  Ten 
years  ago,  I  had  a  son, — amiable,  kind,  loving,  but 
weak.  Heaven  knows  how  I  sought  to  guard  and  pro 
tect  him !  But  he  fell  also.  The  arrows  of  destruction 
darkened  the  very  air  of  our  once  secure  and  happy 
village.  And  who  was  safe  ?  Not  mine,  nor  yours  ! 

"  Shall  I  go  on  ?  Shall  I  call  up  and  pass  in  review 
before  you,  one  after  another,  all  the  wretched  victims 
who  have  fallen  in  Cedarville  during  the  last  ten  years? 
Time  does  not  permit.  It  would  take  hours  for  the 
enumeration!  No:  I  will  not  throw  additional  dark 
ness  into  the  picture.  Heaven  knows  it  is  black  enough 
already !  But  what  is  the  root  of  this  great  evil  ? 
Where  lies  the  fearful  secret?  Who  understands  the 
disease  ?  A  direful  pestilence  is  in  the  air — it  walketh 
in  darkness,  and  wasteth  at  noonday.  It  is  slaying  the 
first-born  in  our  houses,  and  the  cry  of  anguish  is  swell 
ing  on  every  gale.  Is  there  no  remedy  ?" 

"Yes!  yes!  There  is  a  remedy!"  was  the  sponta 
neous  answer  from  many  voices. 


238  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  Be  it  our  task,  then,  to  find  and  apply  it  this  night," 
answered  the  chairman,  as  he  took  his  seat. 

"-And  there  is  but  one  remedy,"  said  Morgan,  as  Mr. 
Hargrove  sat  down.  "The  accursed  traffic  must  cease 
among  us.  You  must  cut  off  the  fountain,  if  you  would 
dry  up  the  stream.  If  you  would  save  the  young,  the 
weak,  and  the  innocent — on  you  God  has  laid  the  solemn 
duty  of  their  protection — you  must  cover  them  from  the 
tempter.  Evil  is  strong,  wily,  fierce,  and  active  in  the 
pursuit  of  its  ends.  The  young,  the  weak,  and  the  in 
nocent  can  no  more  resist  its  assaults,  than  the  lamb 
can  resist  the  wolf.  They  are  helpless,  if  you  abandon 
them  to  the  powers  of  evil.  Men  and  brethren !  as  one 
who  has  himself  been  wellnigh  lost — as  one  who,  daily, 
feels  and  trembles  at  the  dangers  that  beset  his  path — I 
do  conjure  you  to  stay  the  fiery  stream  that  js  bearing 
every  thing  good  and  beautiful  among  you  to  destruction. 
Fathers !  for  the  sake  of  your  young  children,  be  up 
now  and  doing.  Think  of  Willy  Hammond,  Frank 
Slade,  and  a  dozen  more  whose  names  I  could  repeat, 
and  hesitate  no  longer !  Let  us  resolve,  this  night,  that 
from  henceforth,  the  traffic  shall  cease  in  Cedarville. 
Is  there  not  a  large  majority  of  citizens  in  favour  of 
such  a  measure  ?  And  whose  rights  or  interests  can  be 
affected  by  such  a  restriction  ?  Who,  in  fact,  has  any 
right  to  sow  disease  and  death  in  our  community  ?  The 
liberty,  under  sufferance,  to  do  so,  wrongs  the  individual 
who  uses  it,  as  well  as  those  who  become  his  victims. 


NIGHT    THE   TENTH.  239 

Do  you  want  proof  of  this.  Look  at  Simon  Slade,  the 
happy,  kind-hearted  miller;  and  at  Simon  Slade, -the 
tavern-keeper.  Was  he  benefited  by  the  liberty  to  work 
harm  to  his  neighbour  ?  No !  no  !  In  heaven's  name, 
then,  let  the  traffic  cease  I  To  this  end,  I  offer  these 
resolutions : — 

"  Be  it  resolved  by  the  inhabitants  of  Cedarville,  That 
from  this  day  henceforth,  no  more  intoxicating  drink 
shall  be  sold  within  the  limits  of  the  corporation. 

"Resolved,  further,  That  all  the  liquors  in  the  Sickle 
and  Sheaf  be  forthwith  destroyed,  and  that  a  fund  be 
raised  to  pay  the  creditors  of  Simon  Slade  therefor, 
should  they  demand  compensation. 

"  Resolved,  That  in  closing  up  all  other  places  where 
liquor  is  sold,  regard  shall  be  had  to  the  right  of  pro 
perty  which  the  law  secures  to  every  man. 

"  Resolved,  That  with  the  consent  of  the  legal  author 
ities,  all  the  liquor  for  sale  in  Cedarville  be  destroyed ; 
provided  the  owners  thereof  be  paid  its  full  value  out  of 
a  fund  specially  raised  for  that  purpose." 

But  for  the  calm,  yet  resolute  opposition  of  one  or 
two  men,  these  resolutions  would  have  passed  by  accla 
mation.  A  little  sober  argument  showed  the  excited 
company  that  no  good  end  is  ever  secured  by  the  adop 
tion  of  wrong  means. 

There  were,  in  Cedarville,  regularly  constituted  au 
thorities,  which  alone  had  the  power  to  determine  public 
measures ;  or  to  say  what  business  might  or  might  not 


240  TEN   NIGHTS   IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

be  pursued  by  individuals.  And  through  these  authori 
ties  they  must  act  in  an  orderly  way. 

There  was  some  little  chafing  at  this  view  of  the  case. 
But  good  sense  and  reason  prevailed.  Somewhat  modi 
fied,  the  resolutions  passed,  and  the  more  ultra-inclined 
contented  themselves  with  carrying  out  the  second  reso 
lution,  to  destroy  forthwith  all  the  liquor  to  be  found 
on  the  premises ;  which  was  immediately  done.  After 
which  the  people  dispersed  to  their  homes,  each  with  a 
lighter  heart,  and  better  hopes  for  the  future  of  their 
village. 

On  the  next  day,  as  I  entered  the  stage  that  was  to 
bear  me  from  Cedarville,  I  saw  a  man  strike  his  sharp 
axe  into  the  worn,  faded,  and  leaning  post  that  had,  for 
so  many  years,  borne  aloft  the  Sickle  and  Sheaf;  and 
just  as  the  driver  gave  word  to  his  horses,  the  false 
emblem  which  had  invited  so  many  to  enter  the  way  of 
destruction,  fell  crashing  to  the  earth. 


THE    END. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  L.  JOHNSON  &  CO. 
PHILADELPHIA. 


PS 


I 


